I Don't Want to be Married

by Sonja Gunter

  Her stress returned. Rosalind glanced from the casket to the pastor. His voice lulled her as he eulogized Sam. Dry-eyed, she half listened. Memories of all the good and bad times whooshed by in muddled scenes as if they were trying to tell her something.

  “Rosalind, it’s time to leave.” Allan held out his hand to her.

  She looked at him. Without any further encouragement, she rose, disregarded his gesture, and walked to the closed casket. She placed her hands on it and tried to feel Sam’s presence one last time.

  “Goodbye, friend. I’ll miss you,” she whispered. Then it hit her, really hit her.

  Rosalind groaned and lost all composure. Strong arms gathered her close. Through the fog of grief, she knew it was Allan. She clung to him for support and this time accepted his help as he led her away to the car. She sat in a daze during the short ride to the cemetery.

  “Would you like to wait for the hearse before sitting out in the cold?” he asked.

  “The last time I was here was when my grandfather died,” she whispered. “It was spring and the flowers were blooming. Very different.”

  “It’s never easy.” Allan took her hand.

  His warmth burned her cold fingers.

  “I see the car coming. You wait here. I’ll come and get you.” He squeezed her hand and she nodded.

  Through the windshield she watched him walk to the black car, joined by Max, Walt, and Joe. The four men and the driver lifted the casket and carried it across the frozen ground to the freshly dug hole.

  The passenger side door opened. “You don’t have to go,” Allan coaxed lightly. “You can stay here in the warmth.”

  “No. I’m ready.”

  She placed her hand into his and allowed him to lead her along the shoveled path to an awning where her friends waited.

  With her shoulders and back rigid, she sat in one of the chairs. When the time came to lower the casket, Rosalind jerked to her feet, numb to the bone, and made her way to the car.

  Allan climbed in and laid a hand on her cheek. “You should have started the engine. You’re freezing.”

  She blinked. “I don’t care.”

  “Then it’s a good thing this rental has heated seats.”

  His attempt at a bit of levity helped, and the corners of her mouth turned upward for a moment. But for the rest of the ride she remained in her own bubble of misery.

  Reaching the house, Rosalind recoiled at the sight of several vehicles parked in the yard.

  “I don’t want to see or talk to anyone.”

  “They’re here for you,” Allan reminded her gently.

  She opened the car door and trudged to the house. Time crawled by slowly as families came and went. Rosalind smiled when she needed to and spoke when necessary. Mostly she found comfort in sitting in Sam’s old recliner.

  The house finally became quiet.

  Allan squatted next to her chair. “Rosalind, the last of your guests have left. Would you like to lie down?”

  “Yeah, I’m wiped out,” she replied. “My face hurts from trying to keep smiling.”

  Allan helped her to her feet and escorted her upstairs to her room.

  “Do you wear a nightgown?”

  “I have flannel pajamas beneath my pillow.”

  He paused. “Do you . . . I’ll leave so you can . . .”

  “I just want to lie down.” Rosalind yanked off her boots.

  In her stockinged feet, she trudged to the bed, heaved back the comforter, crawled in, and closed her eyes. Allan tucked the blanket up to her chin, and then kissed her forehead.

  “Stay with me,” she whispered.

  “Sure.”

  Though his reply was slow and faded, she felt the bed sag. She moved to the middle, but he wrapped his arms around her, drawing her near. She rested her head on his chest and sighed.

  Loud pounding woke Allan. He uncoiled from a sleeping Rosalind and quietly left the bedroom. Scurrying down the stairs, he tripped on the last step in his haste and stumbled to the front door.

  Max stood on the porch. “Good evening, Mr. Smith. The guys and I want to know if there is anything we can do.”

  “Come inside out of the cold.” Allan massaged his stubbed toes as he motioned Max inside.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Max took off his hat as he entered, holding it in front of him. Allan shut the door and absently brushed his hair from his eyes to clear the sleep from his mind. He gestured to a chair, but Max shook his head.

  “Not sure you heard. We might get some unwanted media attention and visitors,” Allan stated. “I talked to Sheriff Hoffman. He’s been in contact with the police departments in Brainerd and St. Cloud. Until we call something in, there isn’t anything they can do. Can you make sure they don’t come as far as the house?”

  “Already done. The gate we installed will keep any scamps out. We’re taking shifts too.” Max ran his finger around the brim of his hat. “I could use more hired help.”

  “Make it happen. And I have a request. Do you know anyone who can cook?”

  “Yes, I do. Her name is Helen, Mrs. Knutson. She’s recently widowed and is in need of employment, sir.”

  “You’ve saved the day. I can’t cook and Rosalind hasn’t been eating. Will you ask Mrs. Knutson to come by mid-morning while Rosalind is tending to the horses?”

  “I will. Sir, thank you for taking care of Rosalind. I had my doubts about you . . .” Max shuffled from one foot to the other and lowered his head.

  “You’re welcome,” Allan interjected and squeezed Max’s shoulder. “We’ll take one day at a time.”

  “Right,” Max drawled and nodded. “Okay, see ya in the morning.” He put on his hat and left.

  Once the door closed, Allan pulled his phone from his pants pocket and pressed Tiffany’s number.

  “Hello, Mr. Smith.”

  “Tiffany, any updates?”

  “Yes, I was about to call you. Paul is closer to obtaining this person’s identity.”

  “Great. Make sure our names don’t appear in any papers.”

  “Will do. I’ll email you a brief update before I go home. Remember, I have a husband.”

  “Yes, of course. Take him out for a nice dinner on me. Thanks again.” Allan ended the call and hoped he hadn’t woken Rosalind. She’d fallen asleep almost immediately when he’d taken her into his arms. He’d been on the verge of doing the same when he’d heard the knock.

  Quietly Allan returned to her room. He found her still asleep, and settled next to her. She curled into the curve of his body. He studied her pale face and didn’t miss the dark circles around her eyes.

  What am I supposed to do? I don’t know how to take care of a woman.

  He closed his eyes and breathed in Rosalind’s flowery scent with a smile.

  I’ll figure it out.

  Allan awoke when he felt Rosalind inch away from his embrace. Faking sleep, he opened his eyes a sliver, enough to observe her. She tiptoed from the bedroom. He heard the toilet flush and water running. He opened his eyes as he stretched and waited.

  The water stopped and he pretended to be asleep again. She returned to the room wrapped in a towel. Rosalind glanced in his direction and dropped the towel. He forced his body not to react.

  She slipped on blue undies and then her jeans which fit like a second skin. The waistband of the jeans hid her red, blue, and yellow tattoo. He struggled to hold back his desire. In the barn he hadn’t been able to see the alluring colors. His need to have her escalated to an unbearable ache. He unleashed a loud snore and rolled to hide his very evident hardness.

  Rosalind turned. Allan groaned this time when she flashed her breasts at him and showed him her rose tattoo in all its glory.

  She quick
ly raised her hands over her chest. “You awake?”

  “I am. Want to come back to bed?”

  “In your dreams.” She grabbed the rest of her clothes and scurried from the bedroom.

  For Christ’s sake. I want her so bad it hurts.

  He ached to be inside her and run his hands through her long, soft hair. “Shit. I’m in deep here. Pretty soon she’ll have me riding and shooting like a cowboy,” he mumbled and sat up.

  He reached inside his jeans and adjusted himself before following her downstairs. The front door shut as he hit the last step.

  I’m not done with you, missy, we have unfinished business. You can run, but not for long.

  Allan smiled and went to his room to take a shower.

  Chapter 22

  The sound of a car outside the barn stole Rosalind’s attention away from Dawn. She used her coat sleeve to wipe at the fresh tears and gave her beloved horse a hug.

  “Crap, I don’t want company,” she groaned into Dawn’s neck.

  “Is everything okay?”

  Max’s question jolted her. She’d forgotten he was in the barn. He’d been her shadow every day since Sam’s death.

  “Yeah. I’m tired of people lingering around me like I’m something fragile.”

  “They care about you.”

  “If you say so. Whoever it is can wait,” she snapped and resumed brushing Dawn, blinking away tears.

  Four days since Sam had left her alone. She missed his grumpiness, his half-left smile, and most of all his friendship.

  “I can finish the chores,” Max yelled from the other side of the barn.

  “No, I’m about done. Thanks though.” Rosalind dropped the brush into her bucket. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve again.

  “You know, me and the guys are here for you.”

  Still not ready to face Max, she puttered around in Dawn’s stall. The memories of the last few days were too fresh and a new round of tears fell.

  Her argument with Allan still hurt. In her opinion they had unfinished business to deal with. If they hadn’t argued about the news report on the television, she would’ve been with Sam when he’d had his heart attack and could’ve said goodbye. By the time they’d reached his room, doctors and nurses were crammed inside. There’d been no way for her to get close to Sam. She’d been helpless as a cow stuck in the mud.

  The doctors said he’d lost the will to live. They were wrong. Sam knew how to die standing up.

  Damn cancer. Time to leave my safe haven.

  “I’m practicing today,” she stated and locked the stall door as Dawn nickered and Max stepped out from the storeroom. Placing the bucket next to the bench, she met him in the middle of the barn.

  “Okay, we’ll have everything ready. Let me know the time,” he sighed and patted her shoulder.

  “Early afternoon.” She moved subtly and his hand dropped. Max’s concern hindered her steadfastness to show no emotion.

  “Sounds good. Dawn’s been restless the last couple of days. She needs exercise. The guys want to know when they can get goin’ on the new barn.”

  “New barn?”

  “Yeah, since you lost Mr. Hillsboro’s ranch, we decided to help build one. So you can bring those horses here.”

  “Oh, no . . .” she jammed her hands onto her hips. Her thoughts went from one possibility to another, not wanting to succumb to defeat. “I didn’t know. It would mean . . . We’ll talk later.”

  Everything was Allan’s fault. He’d ruined her perfect plan.

  She stomped to the entrance and used all of her pent up frustration to slam her hands at the barn door, pushing it open. A rush of cold air took her breath away and erased the telltale evidence of her morning cry.

  “Can’t the weatherman ever get it right? Sunny and forty-five, my ass,” Rosalind growled. She eyed the recognizable blue and silver car, then dashed to the house.

  Expecting the aroma of Mrs. Knutson’s famous cinnamon caramel rolls, instead mouthwatering smells of fried bacon and eggs greeted her. Hunger pangs, sounding like a diesel tractor, erupted from her belly.

  Oh my God, real food. Not that crap Allan’s been trying to pass off as edible.

  Discarding her outerwear, Rosalind went straight to the kitchen. She smiled at the sight of Helen, gray-haired and plump, standing next to the stove.

  “Mrs. Knutson, what are you doing?”

  “What does it look like, sweetie? A teeny birdie told me you weren’t eating. Why the formalities?”

  “Not sure.” Rosalind hemmed and hawed, then looked at the table adorned with fresh, hot food. Her eyes darted to Helen as she took a pan of golden brown biscuits from the oven.

  “Thank you for coming. Those are some good-looking dough gods. My mouth is watering.” She reached for one, but her hand was slapped away.

  “You have to wait,” Helen scolded. “I kept them warm for you. Go wash before they get cold.”

  Rosalind grumbled in an unladylike fashion, grabbed one, and stuffed it in her mouth before Helen could stop her.

  “I told you to go wash. No dirty hands in my kitchen,” Helen lectured, while swishing the towel toward the door.

  A second roll found its way into Rosalind’s hand before turning and heading out into the hallway. Her taste buds were alive as she savored the butter, her eyes closed with enjoyment.

  “I heard Mrs. Knutson tell you to wait.”

  Opening her eyes, she saw Allan leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. The whiteness of his teeth only added to his bemused smile.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she argued and swallowed the incriminating evidence, shoving her hand behind her to hide the other biscuit she held. “Now if you will kindly move. I need to clean up for my first real breakfast in the last several days.”

  “By all means, Madame.”

  She ignored Allan’s ‘I—caught—you—look’ and retreated to the safety of the bathroom. She crammed the second biscuit into her mouth and brushed away crumbs from her fingers. The mirror showed more evidence on her chin. Smiling, she washed her hands then dabbed at her face with a wet towel. She should be mad at Allan for having Mrs. Knutson come by, even though it was a nice surprise.

  No one had cared for her since her parents and Grandpa Rodney. Allan hadn’t abandoned her like she’d expected he would’ve done. He’d taken charge of everything.

  Without his help, she might’ve been lost, though she’d have figured how to manage on her own. He was allowing her time to properly mourn. Why? The man didn’t make any sense.

  One minute he doesn’t want to be married then the next, he’s making love to me. Now he’s taking care of me.

  Confused, she hurried to the kitchen.

  Helen stood by the stove and asked, “Do I need to check your hands?”

  “No, I’m not a little girl anymore. They’re clean.”

  Rosalind held out her hands to Mrs. Knutson for inspection anyway, and joined Allan at the table. She shoveled eggs and bacon onto a plate and began devouring the food. In no time, her plate was cleaned and she filled it a second time.

  “Whoa, slow down,” Allan cautioned.

  “Honey, hasn’t this young man been feeding you?”

  Rosalind shrugged. “He doesn’t cook. And I haven’t felt like eating until today.”

  Helen cleared the dishes off the table and wiped it with a wet dishrag. “Rosalind, when will you put up your Christmas tree? Max already delivered mine. Why don’t you go get one today?”

  Christmas tree? Shit.

  She’d forgotten all about cutting a tree. Sam respected the tradition and had gone with her since Grandpa Rodney’s death. Now who would go along and find that special tree?

  “I haven’t even thought
about it,” she mumbled sheepishly.

  “Can I help? Let’s drive into town to get one,” Allan volunteered.

  Rosalind stared at him.

  Is he from some other planet? He probably has an artificial Christmas tree and uses a plug-in imitating the smell of pine trees.

  “Why would I go into town? I have trees planted on my land. I also allow my friends to cut down their Christmas trees if they want.” She paused, took a sip of coffee. “Would you like to come with me, City Boy? You’ll have to ride a horse and swing an ax.”

  “Ride a horse? Cut a tree?” Allan slid his chair away from the table. “Isn’t it easier to purchase one?”

  “No,” Rosalind assured in a softer tone and glanced at Helen who was stifling a laugh. “Why waste money when you can grow your own? That’s how it’s done here in the country. Cutting one is more fun than slapping money down and lashing it to the top of your car.”

  “Oh, I don’t know, it’s cold outside,” he argued.

  “Of course it is. It’s November. Helen, thank you, it’s a wonderful idea.”

  Allan’s forehead creased and his lips formed a tight grin. “Sounds like an adventure. When do we leave?”

  “Be ready in fifteen minutes,” Rosalind said and chuckled at his discomfort. “The breakfast was a real treat, Helen.”

  “Oh sweetie, it was my pleasure. You know how much I love to cook. Besides, your hubby hired me. He’s so very polite and well-mannered. Wherever did you find him? He’s a keeper, for sure. I’ll be here every day to cook and clean. It was so nice of him. The extra cash will come in handy.”

  Rosalind’s mouth opened to protest, but she closed it. Helen said she needed the money.

  If Allan is willing to pay, why not let someone else do some of the chores?