Rose

by Chris Keniston

  “I like faces. Especially,” he pressed his lips tightly together before smiling, “yours.”

  Her heart fluttered and heat filled her cheeks. Not since her freshman year of high school when the captain of the football team had smiled at her one day on the lunch line had she felt so flustered.

  “You’re worried.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Maybe a little.”

  “I’ve watched you. You have all the bases covered. Everything will be fine. No. Better than fine.”

  That might be true about the tournament, but what about the crazy backflips her heart kept doing every time this man smiled at her?

  * * * *

  “I bid four,” Ralph the neighbor announced, followed by the next player passing and the General giving Ralph what growing up Logan would have called the stink eye. Clearly the former commanding officer had wanted the trick for himself but not enough to bid a five.

  For the last few minutes Logan had stood on the old porch waiting for Rose to take a call and watched the card players at different tables. His grandfather had taught him to play whist when he was just a kid. Strategy had been the hardest part when he was young; apparently there was more to it than age because Ralph had clearly misread what kind of hand the General had been dealt. Logan would bet his last dollar that the General’s cards very likely didn’t mesh at all with Ralph’s four bid.

  “It’s a lovely night for the meteor shower.” Fiona Hart glanced up at him from her project in progress. “Some years the clouds don’t cooperate, but this year should prove to be one of the spectacular shows.”

  “Will you be joining us?” He still wasn’t sure how many folks would be out for the middle of the night adventure, but it wouldn’t surprise him if half the mountain showed up.

  Fiona laughed. “Hardly. I may be a night owl by nature but I’m an old owl. I’ll be off to bed long before these night owls shuffle their last deck.”

  “Well,” Lucy came to a stop in the doorway, hands fisted on her hips, “got your show-time snacks all packed up. Where is Rose?”

  “By the car. She got a call from someone named Nadine. Sounds like a guy named Fred went off the wagon.”

  Rose had covered the cell with her hand and whispered for Logan to wait for her on the porch. The way she’d bit down hard on her back teeth had told him the conversation was going to take more than a minute. He hoped in the end Fred being tipsy would prove more of a nuisance than a real problem, but the ticking clock and the hairs at the back of his neck told him otherwise.

  “Oh, that can’t be good.” Lucy shook her head. “Isn’t he one of those people who ride along to keep everyone honest?”

  “Yes.” The General’s brows were buckled together as his gaze shifted from the cards in his hand to the lone figure by her car beyond the front lawn.

  From what Lucy had said, it seemed that Fred might be one of the many volunteers Rose had discussed during dinner.

  “I told ya that the tourney should be a catch, photo, and release event. Having a monitor in every boat is a royal pain in the astorbar.” Ralph rearranged his cards and tossed four aside. “Hearts are trump.”

  The General didn’t utter a word but Logan could almost feel the commanding officer’s jaw clench tight enough to crack his molars. The way his gaze bounced back and forth between the cards and the front lawn, Logan wasn’t sure if the irritant was hearts for trump or his granddaughter’s phone call.

  When Ralph led with the ten of hearts and the General played the ace, Logan had his answer. The old guy was unhappy with Rose’s call. The screen door squeaked open and Rose crossed the threshold rolling her eyes. “Anyone here care to tell me why Nadine felt I needed to know about Fred?”

  “That,” the General looked away from the cards on the table, “is what I was thinking.”

  Rose brushed her hands together and smiled up at Logan. “Well, who does and doesn’t ride on the fishing boats when this tournament starts is not on my to-do list.”

  “No section in that orderly binder?” Logan teased.

  Rose grinned up at him. “Absolutely not, which means the only thing I have to deal with now is the light show. Are you ready?”

  “And here’s your snack basket.” Lucy came running out. “Wasn’t sure how many folks would show up this year so I packed a little extra.”

  A little? The basket looked large enough to feed the mountain. “Ready,” he answered, taking the basket from Lucy.

  “You two enjoy yourselves.” Mrs. Hart never lifted her gaze from the strands of fabric draped across her lap.

  They’d made it to the car door when he looked back over his shoulder. “What exactly is your grandmother doing?”

  “Making rugs,” Rose said on a sigh. “I love that woman more than life itself but she is one of the least crafty people I know.”

  “What do you mean?” He held the door for her.

  Rose climbed into the driver seat. “Grams has always been a fan of the arts. It’s in her blood.”

  “And that’s how you wound up at an art museum?” Logan kept his gaze on the pretty redhead with such a sweet smile as he fastened his seat belt and Rose pulled out onto the main road.

  “Maybe a little, yes. Grams would take us into New York to visit my cousins and the museums and of course, Broadway. When we were old enough she’d take us to some special events and patron parties. MOMA was my favorite. But when an arts and crafts type shopping center opened across the lake, Grams got the bug. She’s tried everything under the sun and has yet to find a hobby that suits her.”

  “That bad?”

  “Oh yeah, this latest effort at rag rugs comes from all the leftover fabric from quilting. I’ll spare you the rest of the history but at least she keeps trying.”

  “She’ll find something. Persistence is always rewarded eventually. Not always the way you expect, but always in the end.”

  “That’s very profound.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  “It sounds like something my grandfather would have said.”

  “Maybe it’s because we both have military grandparents.”

  “That’s right. I’d forgotten.” Rose turned up a dirt road. “I checked with Cindy and she wasn’t sure she and Alan were going to make it. Something about his muse being on steroids. Apparently he does writing marathons when an idea strikes.”

  “I see.” The General’s jeep bounced over a dip and Logan grabbed the hand rail. “Tell me why are we not just watching this from the beach?”

  “Great view, but not as great as the top of the world.”

  By the time they reached the area Rose called Eagle Point, he understood exactly what she meant. Even without looking up, the flashes of light brightened their way. “Wow.” It wasn’t very eloquent but it fit. “This is amazing.”

  Rose set the basket down on a log bench then spread the blanket out on a small nearby patch of grass. “It looks like it might be just us.”

  He certainly wasn’t going to complain. Very little held as much appeal as spending time alone with this woman. Not his computers, not his next project, not fishing, not ranching, not even time with his grandfather. Just him, the stars and Rose Preston. Wonder what his grandfather would say about that?

  Chapter Eleven

  As a kid Rose and her cousins had begged to stay up late for the summer shower shows, but not till they were teens did her grandmother pack them up for the nighttime show. She could still remember wishing on all the shooting stars. Silly dreams at the age of twelve. She so badly wanted a Beauty Light Makeup Mirror. By fifteen she really wanted Billy Nagle to notice her. In her senior year, admission to at least one of her top three college choices was top of her wish list, and then, well, then life got real and she’d stopped making wishes. Till now. Then again, what were the odds that tonight could go on forever?

  “I can’t believe this.” Head tipped back, sitting with one arm resting on his raised knee, holding a glass of sparkling water, Logan stared up
ward.

  “It is amazing.” Setting her paper plate of snacks to one side, she leaned back on her elbows. “I think it beats any Fourth of July fireworks I’ve ever seen.”

  “Seriously.” He turned to face her and his smile slipped, making his expression unreadable. A slow steady gaze lingered until his lips pressed into a thin line and he turned back to the skies.

  Silence hung for a few seconds. The mood had shifted. The light banter had taken a back seat to something new. What she didn’t know was if that was good or bad, or if it had anything to do with her or everything to do with the overwhelming natural beauty of a night like this.

  “It’s like someone took a paint brush and just started streaking sparkle paint across the night.”

  “Yep.” She chuckled, relieved to be back to simple conversation and just enjoying the night. “That about covers it.”

  “Though this spot seems pretty spectacular even without the magnificent light show. Reminds me of the quiet of the ranch, and that I really need to take more time to slow the heck down. The business world makes it too easy to get wrapped up in the rat race.” Shifting his weight toward her, he faced the log bench beside them. “This piece looks to have a lot of history.”

  “It does.” She sat up again and filled her water glass. “It’s been in the family for generations. All the Hart couples have carved their initials in it.”

  “All?” He brushed his hand gently across a section of rough, uncarved bark.

  “Yep. Including Lily and Cole and Iris and Grant.” She explained the history of the first Hart to carve the log bench for the woman he loved. “We know there’s no such thing as a lucky charm, but we all feel as though adding our names to the log gives us a leg up. Sort of a blessing for a long life together.” She shook her head. “I know it sounds silly.”

  “No. It sounds kind of…sweet.” He smiled down at her. “A beautiful story. Romantic.”

  “I always thought so but didn’t think most men would agree.”

  Logan shrugged. “I agree.”

  “Yes, but if I’ve learned anything about you the last few days, it’s that you don’t seem like most men.”

  He stared at her a moment. “I hope that’s a good thing.”

  Her heart did a little jig. It was one thing for her to slowly discover this guy was polite, and thoughtful, and nice, and, well, not a jerk, but knowing he wanted her to think good of him, that it mattered to him, that made her want to twirl on the mountaintop like a sappy old romance movie. And wasn’t that just ridiculous. “It is.”

  Fingers weaved behind his head, Logan lied fully back on the blanket, looking up. “Sounds like there are a lot of romantics on this mountain.”

  “What do you mean?” Had she given away the questions rattling around in the back of her thoughts? Surely the guy couldn’t read minds.

  “Didn’t you say that Lucy considers herself the Dolly Levy of the mountain?”

  Lucy? Rose shot straight up and stared down over him. “I love Lucy to death, but no, her antics are not romantic. The woman might be a romantic at heart, but it’s kind of like Lucy Ricardo wanting to sing on the I Love Lucy show. No matter how often she tried she still sounded like nails on a chalkboard. A singer she would never be. Our Lucy’s antics are not romantic.”

  “Did you know in real life Lucille Ball could carry a nice tune?”

  “No, but that doesn’t make Lucy locking two people in a shed romantic, or setting two strangers on a wild goose chase with no gas in the tank, or accidentally forgetting to open the flue and start a fire so the firemen would come running—”

  “You’re kidding me? That sweet lady?” Logan cut her off, biting back a laugh.

  “Nope.” She folded her arms across her chest, shaking her head. “Want to hear that sweet lady’s latest?”

  “I’m not so sure, but I’m a big boy. Go for it.”

  “The church where Poppy works got a new piano player a few months ago. The woman moved here from South Carolina. I never got the chance to meet her, but I heard she was a bit shy and kept to herself and very faithful. Volunteered with Wednesday night bible study. What most folks would probably describe as a good, God-fearing woman. So of course, Lucy thought it would be nice if this good woman met some of Lawford’s more eligible good men.”

  “That seems reasonable,” Logan ventured.

  “So does pouring gasoline on fire ants if you’re not worried about poisoning the water table.” She waved her hand at him. “Anyhow, Lucy is very fond of the pastor. Honestly, I can’t blame her. I’ve met him a couple of times and he’s a very nice guy who happens to be good looking, and because he’s single, he’s the target of just about all the matchmakers in town, including the Merry Widows.”

  “Merry Widows?”

  “Long story and this little tale is already long enough, but just so you know Thelma and Louise from the card games are members. So is Nadine Baker. Anyhow—”

  “I probably don’t want to question the Thelma and Louise thing, do I?”

  She merely shook her head and kept talking. “On the surface the nice, old-fashioned, God-fearing southern girl and country pastor seem like a good fit.”

  Logan nodded.

  “Any normal person might have thrown a dinner party for the two to have a chance to socialize outside of church business, or maybe an afternoon barbecue. Something casual and non-committal.”

  Again, he nodded at her.

  “George the Hart Land handyman had two tickets to see a popular comedian playing in a little club in the next bigger city. Since last minute he decided to go out of town that weekend to visit family, Lucy asked if she could have them.”

  “I detect a plan forming.”

  Rose bobbed her head. “Yep. She gave the pastor the tickets in front of the new piano player and suggested they should go together. Thanks to Lucy, awkward moment number two hundred and twenty. Neither could get out of it without offending Lucy or each other.”

  Logan lifted a brow at her.

  “Yeah, you see where I’m going with this?”

  “Dare I ask who the comedian was?”

  “I forget his name, but do you remember Sam Kinison?”

  “Yes. He made his career by screaming his comedy. Much of it punctuated by four letter words.”

  “That’s the guy. Compared to the comedian Lucy sent the pastor to see, Sam was a choir boy.”

  “Ouch.” Logan’s face contorted in empathetic pain.

  “The nice southern piano player has since moved back to South Carolina.”

  “I think I’m getting the drift, but I don’t discard that Lucy isn’t a romantic, just misdirected.”

  “And we all pray we don’t wind up in her sights.”

  “She did pack us a nice picnic basket. Most people would consider this fruit and cheese spread on a blanket under the stars very romantic.”

  “Trust me, if romance was Lucy’s intention all hell would be breaking loose.”

  “I don’t know that even Lucy could muck up a night like this.” He lifted his gaze to the stars then back to her. “Everything is perfect.”

  She certainly couldn’t argue that. The stars were putting on a light show as spectacular and awesome as she remembered, and she was sharing it with the nicest guy she’d met in a very long time. Maybe ever? How sad was that? Either she’d spent way too much time building a career or all the nice guys had fallen off the face of the earth. Maybe just a little of both.

  “You look suddenly serious.” Lost in her own thoughts, she hadn’t noticed Logan leaning up on one elbow again and staring down at her. The bridge of his nose creased with concern. “Please don’t tell me you’re thinking about the tournament.”

  “No. Not at all.” Even in the pitch black of night, backlit with the show above, she could clearly see the intensity in his gaze.

  “Good.” He leaned slightly forward. “I feel like the geeky kid out with the prom queen.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Ev
en sopping wet and caught—literally—off guard, that first day only a blind man could have missed how beautiful you are.”

  “Oh.” She should probably say something like thank you, but her mind could only circle around the sincerity in his tone. He liked her. Really liked her.

  “Ever since we set up here, I’ve been dying to do something.”

  “Oh?” Great vocabulary Ms. Suma Cum Laude. “You have?”

  “This.” Gently pressing against her, his lips barely descended on hers.

  The jolt struck her all the way to her toes. Tender, gentle, soft and tingly, the sweet sensation sent all thought scrambling. Now more than ever she really wished time would just stand still. Star light, star bright…

  * * * *

  Not only had Rose not slapped him upside the head, she’d kissed him back. Really kissed him. The moment her fingers slid up his arms and reached across the back of his neck, the feeling of coming home settled in hard and strong. Right alongside the yearning for so much more than a single kiss on a mountain top in New England.

  The need to pull her impossibly closer and keep her there warred with the small threads of sanity that shouted for him to pull away, to apologize, to excuse himself and take a nice very long, very cold shower. His fingers tangled in her hair—soft and silky—and the voice of sanity gave one more shout, urging him to pull back, to take a long deep breath. Slowly, he eased his head away, shifting his weight.

  Rose’s eyes fluttered open. Under the flashes of bright lights, pools of deep green locked intently on his. Slowly the corners of her lips tilted upward in the tiniest of smiles. “That was nice.”

  More than nice. “Very.”

  “I don’t suppose you want to do it again?”

  Boy did he. Letting his head tip back momentarily, he sucked in a long, hard breath. Without saying a word, a hand on either side of her, he leaned in for one more kiss. Just one, he told himself. They’d come to this spot for the meteor show, not to make out like a couple of hormonal teens in the backseat of their parents’ car. Except no matter how loudly the small voice in the back of his mind reminded him, he couldn’t make himself end the kiss. Not until instincts from years on the range working the land and noticing the smallest change in their surroundings reared its head at the sound of crunching underbrush growing louder. Easing up and focusing in the direction of the sounds, he lowered his voice. “What kind of animals do you have up here?”