Much to her dismay and frustration, Georgiana always had a feeling lingering in the depths of her heart and mind that kept her from loving him fully. He was most dear to her, being such the man he was, but she invariably held back. Whatever was causing her to forestall any real commitment to a formal relationship with him stemmed from this feeling . . . this terribly inconvenient feeling hidden deep within her.
Georgiana had endeavored to discover and absolve that which troubled her heart and gave her cause to postpone Dawson’s repeated attempts at courting her, but she had failed. The only thing she knew for sure was it somehow connected to the pain and loss she had suffered in her tender childhood years. So often she had longed for the home she had once known, for her grandparents she missed so deeply, for the friendships she had been torn from. She had never, in five years, truly become accustomed to living in New York. And though she had learned and experienced many wonderful things, a feeling of contentment and belonging had always eluded her. By returning to Colorado, the only place she’d ever really considered home, she hoped she would finally make peace with all she had lost and free her heart so she could marry Dawson.
After she had overheard her aunt’s blatant and insistent demands concerning the matter of her returning, Georgiana had gone to her mother privately and pled her own cause. This time her mother did not deny her. Sensing her deep unrest, her mother knew Georgiana owned an intense emotional need to return to Crystal Creek, quite possibly as strong a need to return as her mother had to escape so many years before. Georgiana also suspected her mother harbored profound guilt for tearing her children away from their grandparents and friends. So, to Georgiana’s delight and satisfaction, her mother had given her explicit permission to return and give aid to her grandfather.
Oh, her aunt had ranted and raved and threatened to send them all away. How could Georgiana, after living in the marrow of high society, be subjected to such deplorable living conditions as a ranch house in Colorado with a bunch of uncouth, uncivilized men no less? It was highly improper. And what of poor Mr. Alexander? Was he expected to just wait for her to return?
In the end, her mother had won, insisting it was only a visit and would not be permanent. Besides, her mother pointed out, it was her family’s responsibility, as well as Christian duty, to come to her father-in-law’s assistance during his time of mourning and need. What was the purpose of teaching responsibility and good breeding if, at the first test of character, Georgiana was not encouraged to take the higher road?
Bravo for Mother, Georgiana thought. She had thrown all of Aunt Cecelia’s haughtiness and pomposity back in her face, and the argument had ended. Besides, her mother knew—though she would never let on to Aunt Cecelia—that it would be far from torturous for Georgiana to return to Colorado.
It had taken five years—five long years—but here she was . . . home . . . at last.
Finally, the stage pulled to a stop, and Georgiana nervously clutched her valise and handbag and stepped from the coach. Looking one by one into the faces of the few strangers that loitered about the stage depot, her heart at once leapt for joy the moment she caught sight of her grandfather. Forgetting all her well-groomed manners taught by Ms. Wilmington, she dropped her things and ran heedlessly up the wooden steps toward him, throwing herself into his open arms. Both tears of joy at seeing him again and of sadness over the deep loss she felt for losing her grandmother ran unrestrained down her cheeks.
“Grandad . . . Grandad,” she managed in between her frenzy of emotions, “I missed you so!” She pulled herself back to look into his weathered yet wonderfully familiar face.
“Georgiana, me darlin’ girl,” he said, smiling and brushing an aged hand across his wrinkled cheeks to banish his own tears of joy. The sound of his voice brought with it a rush of memories both bitter and sweet. Still, her heart was lightened. “Well then, stand ye back,” he continued, “and let me be gettin’ a good look at ye, now.” But his eyes never left her face. “Aye, ’tis a splendid sight ye are, and my how ye be grown! Were it not fer that golden hair of yar mother’s and yar grandmother’s eyes, I might’ve never recognized me wee girl, grown to be a woman.” Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to her. “Best ye be moppin’ up some of those tears, now. We canna be havin’ you wash us both right outta town with ’em.” He chuckled, and it made her smile and warmed her heart. She hugged him again before stepping back and dutifully drying her eyes.
When she was finished, Georgiana took a deep breath and looked around her. It was almost as if she had never left. Across the street was Whitaker’s Mercantile. Through the window she could see a woman rhythmically sweeping a broom back and forth. She fancied it must be Mrs. Whitaker, cleaning up the store before closing time. A couple of old gentlemen sat out front at a feeble-looking table in a couple of mismatched chairs playing a game of checkers. It was a familiar sight.
Next to the mercantile sat the barbershop. The barber, old Mr. . . . she couldn’t recall his name . . . was outside spit-shining his windows before closing shop, just like he’d always done. She had speculated many times why a man, who had no hair whatsoever, would want to spend his days cutting and shaving the heads and faces of those who had plenty.
Mrs. Perkins’s dress shop was next. There were a couple of dresses hanging in the windows assuredly meant to display the latest fashions. She would never think of telling Mrs. Perkins that the dresses on display were actually quite outdated from what was now being touted as fashionable in New York. Of course, New York was always one of the first to follow the latest styles coming from Paris. She herself was wearing a tailored traveling suit, which consisted of a pink gored skirt, white ruffled blouse, and a short, pink bolero jacket with perfectly puffed sleeves. Its design was acclaimed to be the epitome of chic among the upper-class socialites, especially when doing a bit of traveling.
Her observations were interrupted when a bout of raucous laughter came bellowing up the street. She didn’t have to look to know where it came from. The saloon was obviously still a flourishing business.
Taking in a deep breath, Georgiana let it out slowly as she took another glance up and then back down the boardwalk. She wanted to see everything at once, but it was getting late. It wouldn’t be long before all the businesses were closed up for the night, with the exception of the saloon, of course.
“Oh, Grandad.” She turned back to him and hugged her arms around her middle. “It feels so good to be home.”
Thrusting her arms out, Georgiana spun herself around a couple of times in a moment of pure exhilaration, once again ignoring the assiduous and exacting lessons on how a proper young woman was expected to act in the public eye.
On her second time around, she caught a glimpse of a tall man standing in the road watching her. Startled that she had an attending audience, Georgiana lost her balance and stumbled. She let out a small scream as she started to fall backward off the steps. A look of astonishment was plastered on her grandfather’s face, and he tried to grasp her outstretched hand in an attempt to keep her from falling. Almost instantly the look was replaced by a grin and a hearty laugh as Georgiana felt herself being caught from behind by a pair of long, sturdy arms.
“Whoa there, missy,” she heard a deep and inherently masculine voice say. “That there is not a proper place to be dancin’ and prancin’ about.” Georgiana gasped. She looked up into the unmistakable yet grown-up face of Ridge Carson. He smiled and continued as if he hadn’t a clue who she was. “Though, if you’re needin’ a lesson or two, I might be willin’ to give it a go with ya, but definitely somewhere . . .” He paused, unabashedly winked at her, and pronounced, “More private.”
Georgiana fought hard to keep the heat of a blush from her face. This was definitely not the scene she had pictured were she to happen upon her old acquaintance Ridge Carson. In fact, on the off chance he still lived in Crystal Creek, she had played out in her mind an entirely different version of their first meeting. She kne
w how she would act and what she would say. And of course, they would both be standing a very respectable distance apart.
To her great dismay, he was not only close . . . she was in his arms! His strong and disturbingly comfortable arms! That fact alone was making her aware, and admittedly a little startled, that Ridge Carson somehow had even more of an effect on her now than he’d had so long ago. Since all of her well-planned and scripted words had vanished from her head the moment she had looked into his face, Georgiana continued to silently gaze up at him.
Ridge! Her mind reeled. It’s really you! Her eyes were drawn to his mouth, and she remembered the last time she had seen him five years ago, a look of shock engraved on his face as she stole a kiss and fled. Now here he was rescuing her from a most humiliating circumstance, and all she could think about was that kiss. What would Ms. Wilmington say if she saw me now? Georgiana pondered, even as she continued staring dumbfounded at his lips.
Suddenly realizing how quiet it was, and that he obviously was waiting for her to respond, Georgiana cleared her throat and pulled her attention away from his mouth, only to be captured by his heavenly eyes and the familiar mirth they held. Her heart markedly skipped a beat. She fondly recalled how often she had witnessed that look when he had teased her unrelentingly as a young girl. Again she was struck dumb as a swarm of memories flew through her head.
Without warning, a muffled sound erupted from deep within him, shaking his frame and jolting her back into the present. He was laughing at her, she realized. Not only did she now have to fight harder to keep the blush, which threatened to reveal her embarrassment, at bay, but she was also struggling to keep her temper subdued.
“Pardon me, sir,” she began, sounding as flustered as she felt, though choosing to address him formally. “Thank you for coming to my rescue, but if you would kindly . . . please . . . put me down. I . . .” Calm down, she told herself. Speak fluently and with confidence. The confidence part was difficult because he was still holding her close, and everywhere her body touched his, she felt a heightened tingling sensation. She needed to be free from this sudden rush of confusing emotions.
“Sir, I must insist for propriety’s sake, you release me this minute!” she managed to request, pleased her voice finally contained the proper tone and quality expected of a woman with measurable social breeding.
When Ridge made no immediate move to grant her request, she looked over to her grandfather for assistance. Her grandfather had finally stopped laughing, and she begged with her eyes for him to intercede on her behalf.
“Ridge.” Her grandfather descended the stairs and stepped forward, taking her free hand and urging Ridge to set her down. He released her slowly, lowering her feet to the ground. “Ye be knowin’ me granddaughter, Georgiana, do ye not? Used ta live at the ranch with me and me wife . . . her kin too. Left ’bout five years past and moved east to New York.” Georgiana saw a puzzled look cross Ridge’s handsome face. Did he really not know who she was?
“Hmm,” he answered casually, bringing his hand to his chin while rubbing it thoughtfully. “Think I might recall ya havin’ some family livin’ with you back a spell, Angus.” He then was quiet for a moment as he looked from Georgiana to her grandfather, still rubbing his chin. “Remember a couple of young’uns . . . boys, I think. Must’ve been your grandsons. Were a bit younger than I was, so we never did get on much together.” He continued to look thoughtfully as if he was trying hard to remember who she was. Then dropping his hand from his chin and shaking his head, he added, “Ain’t sure I remember any girls.”
Georgiana didn’t know why exactly, but instantly she was angry. Although proper decorum dictated she keep the infuriated and affronted look from her face, she could not withhold the caustic tone that slipped from her tongue.
“Well, you might not remember me, Mr. Ridge Carson,” she spat the words, “but I surely remember you! Quite the troublemaker you were, always getting the schoolmaster in an uproar. You made it most miserable for the rest of us as I recall.”
She wasn’t being quite truthful, but he had hurt her feelings by forgetting her so easily. He hadn’t really been a troublemaker, mostly just a rascal and a tease. The other children, including her, thoroughly enjoyed the way he kept the schoolmaster hopping with his mischief and tomfoolery. Georgiana hadn’t forgotten either, how he had teased her rather exclusively at times and remembered too just how well she had enjoyed it. Ridge had been her friend . . . a good friend. Could he really have forgotten her so easily?
“Hmm.” He stood back, and his eyes traveled from the tip of her head down to her toes and back up again. “Maybe I remember a girl after all,” he continued. “Seems every school has one,” he remarked candidly, and Georgiana could feel her face becoming hot again. Still eyeing her, he walked around her one full circle, coming to stop directly before her. When his gaze at last came to rest upon her face, he added, “Some even have two!”
“And what, may I ask, are you implying with that remark, Mr. Carson?” she countered sarcastically. Her face was really red now. Not from embarrassment but from trying to control her temper.
“Ain’t implyin’ nothin’, Miss McLaughlin.” He toned his voice to mimic her sarcasm, which did nothing to soften her anger. “Just tellin’ it how it was.” Now he began walking side to side, looking her up and down again. His face appeared as though he was trying to recall some memory. Suddenly he stopped and faced her once more.
“Ah, yes . . . it’s comin’ back ta me now. How could I forget such a sassy young thing?” He leaned forward to look deeper into her eyes. Georgiana’s heart sped up. Even though she was livid with him, his nearness affected her so. “Yes . . . yes,” he went on, leaning even further forward, his lips only inches from hers. She prayed he had no idea how hard she was fighting to keep from closing the gap. “I’m thinkin’ she even had the same pert little nose and stormy-colored eyes,” he said slowly and then finally stood back up straight. Abruptly, Georgiana’s hand came up to cover her nose but only briefly. “I believe,” he continued while rubbing an imaginary sore spot on his behind, “that she might’ve even been the cause of a sound lickin’ I got when I played a joke once on Schoolmaster Robinson. Took me quite by surprise her bein’ a tattletale an’ all. Would’ve never pegged her for one.”
Georgiana remembered what he was referring to, and after a moment of surprise that he had known it was her who had gotten him into trouble, her anger abated and a feeling of shame welled up to replace it.
It really hadn’t been her fault. She would have never purposely tattled on Ridge. The schoolmaster had tricked her into answering him during his interrogation of her. She had been so nervous and the schoolmaster so cross. When she realized she had let on to who was responsible, she had begun to cry. Schoolmaster Robinson assured her no one would be the wiser about who had “spilled the beans.” This only made her cry harder, causing him to become agitated. He then dismissed her to go home, and she had gladly obliged.
Ridge hadn’t acted angry with her then, so she assumed the schoolmaster had kept his word. Had he really known all along it was she who had betrayed him?
Georgiana looked over at him speculatively. He appeared to be trying hard to maintain an angry and irritable persona, but the corner of his mouth kept twitching as if it was determined to break into a half grin. Was he teasing her just now? She had been able to read him almost like a book before she’d left. With so many empty years between them now, she was no longer sure.
Continuing to withhold any response to his accusation, Georgiana took the time to make a lingering observation of him as he had made of her only moments before. My goodness, he has grown! she thought. No longer was he the cute, freckle-faced, rascal of a boy she remembered running away from that day so long ago. He was a full-grown man, tall and ruggedly handsome, with a sculpted face and a square jaw that boasted a slight cleft in his chin. No doubt he had been cleanly shaven that morning, but now his face showed signs of manhood. His eyes . . . mmm .
. . were still the same warm honey color, but his hair, a deep russet brown, was neatly trimmed. She remembered that he had an unruly tousle of curls as a boy and smiled to herself.
Finally, her eyes traveled to his lips. Those lips . . . thick and expressive, accentuated his grin crooked. He had indeed failed to keep it hidden, making it all the more tempting. Georgiana’s chest rose and fell with a satisfied breath. Her eyes traveled lastly over his arms and torso. No doubt the muscles beneath his shirt were strong and firm, a mass of strength born of hard work and labor. She could only imagine what a sight he would be to look upon. Her cheeks colored at the thought of seeing him without a shirt. It was most improper for her to be envisioning such things.
Ridge cleared his throat, and Georgiana realized she still was staring at his chest. She was tempted to turn her head to the side to hide her embarrassment, but instead she looked him directly in the eyes, lifting her chin ever so slightly.
“Perhaps you are right about me, Mr. Carson.” She noticed how all at once his face fell. He had been teasing and for some sentimental reason it pleased her to know he hadn’t outgrown his playful manner. “I apologize for insulting you as well as for causing you undo pain in your youth.” Quickly turning away from his disappointed look, Georgiana addressed her grandfather, who had been observing their exchange with an amused grin on his face. “I am feeling quite fatigued from my long journey, Grandad. Might we head for home?”
“Aye, me girl, ’tis late and best we be headin’ that way now,” he answered and then gave her a sympathetic look. “Well then, how ’bout ye go an’ wait in the wagon while I be fetchin’ yar trunk.”
Georgiana nodded and turned back to Ridge once more before walking away.
The Kissing Tree Page 2