Love Finds You in Wildrose, North Dakota

by Tracey Bateman

  “Yes, Mama,” he said, sobering.

  Finn looked at the boy. “Did you leave the lamp burning in the barn when you took Barney from his pen?”

  The boy’s eyes went wide. “No, Mr. Tate. I did not use a light at all. I did not want anyone to see me go inside, so I would not be caught getting Barney.”

  “And there was no lamp at all when you went in there just twenty minutes ago?”

  He shook his head. “No, sir.”

  Though neither Rosemary nor Finn said anything as they watched the barn burn, Rosemary could see from the anger burning in Finn’s eyes that he believed the fire was deliberately set.

  The barn continued to burn, and by morning there was nothing left but smoldering debris. Finn hadn’t gone home but instead stayed on the porch, watching the fire to make sure it didn’t spark another blaze. Thankfully, it didn’t.

  After a sleepless night, Rosemary brought Finn a cup of coffee on the porch. He sat back against the wall, a quilt wrapped around him. Rosemary dropped to the porch beside him and hugged her knees to her chest.

  Neither of them stated the obvious until the final board fell with a crack. Finn turned to her. “You know it was Clayton.”

  She nodded. “Most likely.”

  “I’m going to see him today.”

  Rosemary shook her head. “No. This isn’t your fight, Finn. It’s mine. If anyone is going to go see him, it’ll be me.”

  Anger ignited in his eyes and he stood, letting the quilt drop. He set the coffee on the rail and shoved his hat on his head. Reaching down, he took her arm and lifted her to him. He stared into her eyes, inches from her face. “One of these days you’re going to realize that you need someone to help you, Rose.”

  He cupped her neck and pulled her close, pressing his lips to hers. Before she could react by either kissing him back or slapping his face, he’d dropped his hand and pulled away. “If you get this wrong with Clayton, it won’t be the same as messing up a haircut. Be very sure you know what you’re doing.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  ...........................

  Three days later, Finn still had no idea why on earth he’d kissed Rosemary, especially after she’d told him—for all intents and purposes—that she didn’t need him.

  It was just that she was so small, so frail-looking. He couldn’t help it. He wanted to take care of her. Everything in him wanted her to stop being so stubborn and just give in to marrying him. For mercy’s sake, she was the one who’d first brought up the subject. Why couldn’t she see the wisdom of joining their lives, their property? But he’d told her he wasn’t going to ask again, and that was a promise he intended to keep.

  At least she had given in and agreed that they should not disappoint Marta about the dance. The barn fire wasn’t Marta’s fault, and the girl had been through enough lately. She should not be denied the dance.

  Rolf and Marta rode in the back of the wagon, along with the basket of food the four of them would share as a picnic dinner on the way to Paddington.

  The breeze was cool but not cold, although they had come prepared with blankets in case the weather turned cold later, as it was likely to do even now, in early summer when the days were nice and warm.

  The tension between each couple was palpable—the two young folk because they had never been together in a courting situation, and Finn and Rosemary because of the kiss they still hadn’t discussed.

  Finn glanced at Rosemary out of the corner of his eye. She sat demurely, her hands in her lap. The sun fell across her cheeks, illuminating her face. While he was feeling the tension, he wondered now, as he glanced at her, if she felt it too. She seemed at peace.

  As if sensing his perusal, she turned to him. Her eyes widened. “Is something wrong?” she asked.

  “No. I just wondered if you’re still angry with me.”

  “Angry? When was I angry?”

  “What happened on the porch?” Finn couldn’t help but be a little stung that she didn’t even remember.

  He was about to enlighten her when her face registered understanding. “Oh. You mean because of the kiss?”

  “Yes.”

  “At first I wanted to be angry.” Her face had grown pink, and he was gratified to know that she at least thought about the moment.

  “What changed your mind?”

  “Rachel.” She smiled and gave a little sigh.

  “Rachel? I don’t understand how she had anything to do with it.”

  “She told me once that you tend to act rashly in situations where you don’t know how to fix a problem.” A shrug lifted her shoulders. “I thought about it and realized that’s what happened. You were trying to make me feel better, and it seemed like a kiss would make me forget the barn.”

  Her explanation was ridiculous, of course. Rachel’s words were true, but the kiss wasn’t to make her feel better. Or had it been? Maybe it had been to make himself feel better instead.

  “Well,” he said, “I’m glad you’re not offended.”

  “I’m not.” She pointed to a creek in the grove of trees just ahead. “Is that a good place to stop and eat? We’ll be in Paddington in an hour, and the dance won’t start for two.”

  “I reckon it’s as good a place as any.”

  Relieved to have gotten the discussion of the kiss behind them, Finn enjoyed the sausages, sauerkraut, and strudel Agnes had packed. Stretching out his legs, he leaned back on the quilt and rested on his elbow.

  Rolf and Marta took a walk along the creek, staying properly in sight.

  Finn knew that the easy silence he and Rosemary had shared in the wagon would grow uncomfortable if it continued in this setting. He was also aware that anything personal would be awkward, so he decided to raise the subject that was most likely foremost on her mind anyway.

  “What will you do about the barn?”

  She turned to him, her neck long and soft as she looked down. “I’ll have to pay workers to build another one, I suppose.”

  “As soon as planting is finished, I can help.”

  She nodded, her eyes serious. “I had hoped you would consider overseeing things. I don’t have any experience when it comes to building.”

  He had to admit, he enjoyed the idea that she had thought of him. “Do you want me to find the workers for you?”

  “It would probably be for the best.” She began packing up the leftovers and sliding them into the basket. Finn enjoyed the steady, capable way her hands moved. There was no hesitation, just gentle confidence…the same way she seemed to approach every task, with the exception of hair cutting. He grinned in spite of himself.

  “What’s funny?” Rosemary asked.

  Heat crawled up his neck, but he saw no reason to lie. After all, they were entering into a friendship now. Why shouldn’t they laugh about the haircut?

  “I was just thinking that you are good at everything.”

  Her eyes lit and she looked pleased.

  He leaned over and tucked a strand of silky hair behind her ear. “Except for cutting hair.”

  In a flash, anger replaced the smile and she scowled at him. “What a time to bring that up! I’ll always remember that haircut as the night my barn burned to the ground.”

  Finn couldn’t help it; he laughed out loud. “Admit it,” he said. “You’re just upset because you did a poor job.”

  She glared at him and shrugged, standing to her feet. She looked down at him. “Think whatever you wish.”

  “I will.” He stood and brushed off his trousers.

  “Will you call them back?” she asked, nodding toward Rolf and Marta. “It’s probably time to go. We don’t want to be late.”

  Personally, Finn couldn’t care less if they were late. If it were up to him, he’d stay here, resting alone in the sun with Rosemary, for as long as they could. The best part of the entire adventure was the long drive and the picnic dinner. Dances made Finn uncomfortable, and he typically didn’t enjoy being in the company of so many people. But he did as R
osemary asked. “Rolf, Marta, we’re leaving.”

  Bending, he grabbed the basket.

  “Thank you,” Rosemary said. Her voice still sounded offended as she pulled the blanket from the ground. She shook off the grass and leaves and folded the quilt. Together, they walked back to the wagon. Finn deposited the items in the back of the wagon and held out his hand. Rosemary slid her fingers inside his palm and allowed him to help her into the seat.

  She breathed out a soft sigh as he climbed in next to her and they waited for Marta and Rolf.

  “Everything okay?” he asked.

  “Yes. I was just thinking how nice it’s been so far, getting away from the homestead.” She gave him a sharp look. “Not that I don’t love the homestead.”

  “I know you do.” Finn couldn’t resist a smile. If anyone knew how much she loved that place, he did.

  “It’s just very peaceful out here in the quiet.”

  “It’s been nice.” Finn unwrapped the reins from the brake. “I almost hate to go to the dance.”

  Laughter bubbled from her. “I agree. I’ve been dreading it, to be honest. If Marta hadn’t wanted so desperately to accept Rolf’s invitation, I never would have thought twice about going.”

  Rolf and Marta reached the wagon before Finn could respond.

  Marta held up a flower. “Look! The wild roses are blooming. I will put this in your hair.”

  “Wild roses.” Rosemary’s face lit up. “Rachel told me about those. She said…”A pretty blush stole across her cheeks. “Never mind.”

  Finn didn’t press, but he had a pretty good idea of what was on her mind, because the same thought had occurred to him: Rachel had always compared Rosemary to the wild rose. “Look at it, Finn. It’s full of beauty and grace and yet it refuses to be contained.” She had spread her arms to take in the wide expanse of flowering bushes. “Just like my Rose.”

  * * * * *

  Rosemary slid into Finn’s arms as he helped her down from the wagon. He smelled of fresh air and soap, and her mind flew back to the kiss they had shared—or, rather, that he had given her without allowing her the opportunity to decide whether or not to kiss him back.

  The air had grown crisp as twilight descended upon the little town of Paddington. From the congested street lined with wagons, it appeared as if the entire township had arrived for the dance. Glancing up at Finn, whose warm hands still spanned her waist, she couldn’t keep the worry from her voice. “Do you think Mr. Clayton is going to be here?” And his men.

  “There’s a pretty good chance he will be. He and the mayor are friends.” He stepped out of the way as Rolf escorted Marta past them toward City Hall.

  Rosemary didn’t understand, and her face must have shown it. Finn motioned toward the building. “Clayton paid to have this built. And the mayor looks the other way when Clayton has dealings.”

  Rosemary’s stomach squeezed at his emphasis on the last word.

  “So he might look the other way if Mr. Clayton tries to steal my land from me.”

  Finn smiled and held her elbow as he guided her toward the door. “If it were that easy, most of us wouldn’t have homesteads around here. Clayton would own the whole territory.”

  “That’s probably true.” She shrugged. “Perhaps he’ll refrain from confrontation. It is a party, after all.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it.” He smiled again as he reached forward and opened the door. “But don’t let it ruin your night.”

  She’d been thinking about the fire and had finally realized that he had ordered her barn to be set on fire because she had threatened to burn all the buildings and fields. This must have been his way of showing her that he would have the land with or without the buildings. One way or another he intended to win, and he’d used her own threat against her.

  The music was already playing, and couples were beginning to wander onto the dance floor, Rolf and Marta among them. Untying her cape, Rosemary slid the covering from her shoulder. “I’ll hang it up for you,” Finn said.

  “Thank you.”

  As he moved away through the crowd of others who had also just arrived, Rosemary glanced furtively around the room, half expecting Mr. Clayton to jump out at her. Instead, she spotted Mrs. Franklin sitting in a wooden chair along the wall just to her right. The elderly proprietor of the boardinghouse smiled and lifted her wrinkled hand, motioning her over.

  Rosemary walked the short distance. “Well, look at you,” Rosemary said. “You look awfully pretty tonight.”

  Mrs. Franklin waved away the compliment. “Honey, I haven’t been pretty in forty years.” She squinted at Rosemary. “But you’re looking pretty. Even have a wild rose in your hair. Did your young beau give you that?”

  “I don’t have a beau. We’re here as chaperones for that young couple.” She pointed to Marta and Rolf.

  Mrs. Franklin glanced at the dance floor then back to Rosemary with a knowing smile. “At any rate, the rose is becoming.” Rosemary felt a blush creep across her face. She reached up and plucked the bloom Marta had slid into her chignon. “I forgot it was there.”

  Mrs. Franklin scowled. “Should have left it be. I said it was becoming.” She glanced toward the refreshment table, where Finn was standing. “I had a feeling the two of you would end up courting.”

  Rosemary opened her mouth to say, “We’re not”—but the elderly woman gave her no opportunity. The benefit of age, she supposed. One could do and say just about anything without folks being too offended. Mrs. Franklin tapped her cane on the floor in time with the music. “I hear you bought out Mr. Lyle’s sheep herd.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Bracing herself for a scolding, Rosemary stiffened her back.

  “Good for you.” She nodded. “Even if you and Mr. Tate get yourselves married, a woman needs to have something of her own.”

  “We’re not getting married.”

  “There you are.” Finn’s voice startled Rosemary. She spun around and barely avoided the cup he carried. “Whoa,” he said. “I brought you some apple cider, and I’d rather not wear it.”

  She took the drink with a muttered apology.

  “I don’t suppose you brought one of those for me?” Mrs. Franklin said.

  “As a matter of fact,” Finn said, “I was about to ask Miss Jackson for a dance, so you can have mine.” He winked at the elderly lady. “I haven’t sipped out of it.” He turned to Rosemary, the hesitation in his eyes belying the confidence in his tone. “Would you care to dance?”

  Rosemary took his hand, setting her cider on the table next to Mrs. Franklin. “Let’s do.”

  At the first touch of his hand in hers, Rosemary felt a rush of warmth in her belly. When he took her into his arms, it was all she could do not to close her eyes and feel the moment as he began to lead her in a waltz. “Rolf and Marta seem to be getting on well,” he observed, nodding to the couple not far from them on the dance floor.

  “Yes.”

  He peered closer at her. “You don’t seem pleased.”

  “It’s not that Rolf isn’t a fine young man, but he’s a few years older than she is.”

  “No more than three or four, I’d say. What’s wrong with that?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with it. It’s just that he’s obviously looking for a wife.”

  “And you have objections to Marta being that choice?” Finn’s gaze slipped to the young couple then back to Rosemary.

  Rosemary shrugged and looked up into Finn’s brown eyes. “I would never presume to object. It isn’t my place to do so. It’s just that, given Marta’s circumstances, I’m concerned that she might accept a proposal out of obligation. You see?”

  “She could do worse, Rose.” Finn turned her around the dance floor, smoothly and with a grace that surprised her. “Not everyone has the fortitude to run a sheep ranch.”

  Rosemary’s defenses went up at his sarcasm. “I’m not suggesting she should. I’m not even saying they wouldn’t eventually be a good match. But she’s only fifteen—sixt
een in a couple of weeks. She’s much too young.”

  “Sixteen?” Finn’s eyebrows rose. Rosemary could feel his annoyance and surmised his implication. He had started courting Rachel when she was just sixteen, and she was barely seventeen when they married.

  Rosemary had been opposed to Rachel’s marriage as well and had begged her to wait just one more year. She looked up at him and read the anger in his face, but she saw no reason to lie. “It’s how I feel, Finn.”

  Why did every encounter with him have to end in someone getting angry? She was about to try to toss him an olive branch when Mr. Clayton tapped him on the shoulder.

  “May I have this dance?” he asked.

  Finn tensed and his eyes glittered cold as ice. “You have a lot of nerve coming over here.”

  “Indeed? Are you going to refuse me the honor of a dance with your lady?” Clayton’s tone rang with challenge, and Rosemary believed he almost hoped Finn would refuse—or that she would—so that he could show the town how poorly they treated him.

  Rosemary considered the situation, though her stomach roiled at the very thought of this man touching her. If she humiliated him in public, she would be declaring an all-out war with Clayton and his men. And in a dirty war, he would win.

  Clearly, Finn hadn’t taken the time to consider the situation. “Crawl back into your hole, Clayton,” Finn said. “You’re not getting near her.”

  Rosemary patted his shoulder. “It’s all right, Finn. I’d be more than happy to dance with Mr. Clayton.”

  “Forget it.”

  She smiled, though anger flashed through her at Finn’s assumption that he had the right to tell her what she could and couldn’t do. Wordlessly she stared at him until he relinquished her and stomped away.

  Clayton wrapped one hand around her waist and took her other in his hand. Rosemary was glad she wore gloves. The thought of being forced to actually touch him with her bare skin turned her stomach.

  “That look on your face is most unflattering to me, little miss.”

  She smiled for the onlookers. “Be glad I’m not losing my dinner all over your suit.”

  Rather than the anger she’d expected, he gave a boisterous laugh, drawing attention to them. “I find your honesty refreshing, my dear.”