The Kissing Tree

by Bice, Prudence

  “What is it you understand, Ridge?” Georgiana was suddenly nervous about the direction their conversation was heading.

  “Look, Georgie.” He leaned further back in his chair, the shadows once again obscuring his features. “Before ya came back, we hadn’t seen or talked to each other in five years . . . five years,” he emphasized. “Ya been gone a long time, and . . . we grew up.” He only paused slightly before adding, “You’re different, Georgie. I’m different. It’s not the same as when we was kids. We’ve been livin’ in two separate worlds . . . both goin’ opposite ways.” Once more he halted his speech. When he spoke again, his voice was tinged with what sounded like defeat. “I’m sorry . . . ’bout the other day. I mean, I should never have—”

  “Please don’t,” she hastily interrupted. He was about to apologize for kissing her, and her heart couldn’t take that.

  Nervously, her stomach tied itself in knots. Ridge needed to know how she felt. Nothing was going right. She thought she had sensed he shared similar feelings with her. Maybe she’d been wrong? Maybe she’d been wrong about a lot of things. Tears gathered in her eyes, threatening to spill over. It was now her turn to stare out the window as she garnered enough courage to speak.

  “Ridge, please. I know how it looked, but I . . . ,” she finally managed even though her words were barely a whisper.

  “Ya moved away,” Ridge suddenly broke in, his voice tinged with frustration, “made new friends.” He paused, but when he spoke again his voice was softer. “Don’t ya see, Georgie? Ya’ve changed. You’re a city girl, now. That fancy school did a right good job of it too. Why, if I hadn’t grown up with ya, I’d never have known it was you, walkin’ and talkin’ the way you do.”

  She cringed at his words. She wasn’t a city girl . . . and she never would be. This is where she belonged. But before she could defend herself, he spoke again.

  “I’m a simple cattle rancher; it’s all I ever wanted. I don’t reckon I’ll ever leave Colorado.” He stood up then, picking up his glass and plate. “Go back to New York, Georgiana,” he added with a note of finality as he walked over to the sink. “It’s where you belong. You have—” He stopped abruptly and sighed before finishing the statement.

  She heard him set his dishes down, and for a long moment he didn’t say anything, just stood there quietly. It was her chance to speak. To shout out that he was wrong. She hadn’t changed, not really. She hated New York, and the last thing in the world she wanted to do was return there. In fact, she’d dig her heels and her fingers deep into the Colorado soil and hang on for dear life if anyone tried to drag her back. Though her mind raced with all the things she should say, an underlying fear kept her mouth closed tight.

  Still, she wanted to go to him. Put her arms around him and tell him he was who she wanted and that her life had always been here with him. If it wasn’t meant to be between her and Ridge, her heart had somehow failed her. Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to turn around. He had said she was different . . . she’d changed. Was he really just saying he didn’t want her? So, instead of running into his arms, she sat numbly staring at the empty chair sitting across the table. Suddenly she noticed the coat hanging on it and a thought jumped into her mind.

  “Dawson!” He was here. Somewhere. She’d nearly forgotten about him. She’d left him with her grandfather earlier, promising to return as soon as she changed for dinner. Where was he? Had he gone back to town? Surely not, especially with the storm flooding the roads. Her grandfather would have found a place for him to sleep, but where?

  “Yes . . . Dawson,” she heard Ridge repeat.

  Georgiana was at once confused. Why had Ridge said that? It didn’t make sense. What exactly had he said to her a moment ago? She contemplated. He’d told her to go back to New York . . . but then didn’t finish his statement. Ridge must think she had chosen Dawson over him. Maybe he does care? she wondered hopefully and turned quickly in her chair to explain, but Ridge was already gone. She watched helplessly as the kitchen door swung closed.

  Standing up, Georgiana hobbled over to the door to call him back, explain to him the misunderstanding. But when she opened the door and took a step through it, she saw the bunkhouse door swing closed too.

  Sighing, Georgiana made her way back to her room, leaving the milk and bread at the table, forgotten.

  12. Pillow Talk

  Ridge left immediately, not daring to even look at her face when Georgiana had confirmed his suspicions. He feared he would take her into his arms and, with a kiss, try to convince her to change her mind . . . to choose him. He hurried quickly to the bunkhouse. She’d made her choice. He would have to learn to live with it somehow. Maybe he would find some respite in his sleep, though he sincerely doubted it. Surely his dreams would be of her—holding her close, smelling her skin and her hair, her eyes reflecting the longing evident in his own. Would he be able to hold himself back from tasting her sweetened kiss once again, even after her admission that it was Dawson she wanted to spend the rest of her life with?

  Disappointment weighed heavily on him. Angus had seen to that, Ridge thought, annoyed, even though he knew the old man’s intention had only been to fend off a possible scene. All the same, the thought had occurred to him that perhaps it would have been better if Mr. Dawson Alexander had witnessed Georgiana wrapped in his arms, instead of the other way around. Maybe it would have caused the man to turn around and run right back to New York. Georgiana would then be his.

  Shaking his head, Ridge wearily leaned up against the inside of the bunkhouse door he had just closed behind him. She’ll never belong to me, he thought, sighing deeply as his shoulders sagged with the weight of defeat. It had been hard saying all he had, but the last thing he wanted was for her to feel trapped or obligated to stay in Colorado. He could sense she’d been struggling for weeks trying to choose between the two worlds she lived in. He wanted to make it easier for her. If she’d felt differently, she’d had her chance to say so. In the end, she had made her decision, and he couldn’t argue with that.

  Ridge stopped to listen for a moment to the quiet breathing of the men, all except Roddy and his incessant snoring. Thankfully, he was used to it by now. It no longer disturbed his sleep like other things did lately.

  Walking to his bunk, he unrolled the bedding he had brought in earlier that day when he and Jeremiah had returned from Castle Rock. He was tired, both physically and emotionally, so he failed to notice the lump lying on Jimmy’s bunk above him. He was glad the men were all asleep and he wouldn’t have to endure the chatter and speculation about the unexpected arrival of Dawson Alexander.

  Lying down on top of his bedding, Ridge put his hands behind his head and stared up at the bed above him. He was shocked to see it move as if someone had rolled onto his side. Had Jimmy returned already? Surely not with the storm.

  “You must be Ridge,” he heard a vaguely familiar voice say.

  Startled, Ridge realized who the voice belonged to and was glad the man could not see the look that crossed his face.

  Although Ridge didn’t say anything in return, it didn’t stop Mr. Alexander from resuming the conversation.

  “Georgiana told me how you rescued her in the storm this afternoon and doctored her injured foot.” He paused for a moment. “Miss McLaughlin means the world to me, and I am exceedingly in your debt.”

  “Ya owe me nothin’,” Ridge answered, trying to keep his voice sounding normal. He took his hands from behind his head and began massaging his temples. His head was starting to pound, and he had no desire to have a late night chat, especially with the present company. “Should try to get some sleep, Mr. Alexander. Mornin’ comes early on a cattle ranch,” he advised, hoping to end the conversation.

  He heard Dawson roll onto his back, and for a while there was only the familiar silence once again. Relieved, Ridge figured the man had fallen asleep. However, as soon as he thought it, Dawson began talking again, softly this time, and Ridge wasn’t sure whether the man was talking
to him or to himself.

  “I remember the first time I ever saw her.” Ridge wasn’t sure he wanted to be listening to this, but what choice did he have? Maybe blessed slumber would find him soon, if he could only be so lucky. “I had promised my younger brother, Thomas, I would take him to the park so he could show off the new boat he had been given for his birthday. We were running to keep up with it as it sailed along the edge of the lake when suddenly there she was.” He paused, and Ridge could hear him breathe in deep. “The sight of her was like Christmas morning. She was sitting on a blanket, leaning up against a tree, sketching some young children as they played at the water’s edge. One corner of her mouth was turned up slightly in a sort of half smile like she couldn’t decide whether to be amused or amazed at something she saw before her. As I stood there watching, an oak leaf floated down from a branch above and came to rest on her lap. She laid down her sketchbook, picked up the leaf, and began twirling it between her fingers as a look so sad, so forlorn spread across her face. I knew in that moment, if I accomplished nothing else in this life other than to keep such a look from ever torturing this lovely woman’s face again, I would have truly accomplished a great task indeed.”

  He laughed softly before he continued. “It took me three days to get the nerve up to speak to her, much to Thomas’s delight at being taken to the park each day. I was lucky she made a habit of sketching daily, or I might have had to spend an entire lifetime looking for her again.” He sighed and took another deep breath. “The first time she looked up at me with those lovely, thoughtful gray eyes, I knew she was unlike any other woman I had ever known.”

  This time when he paused, Ridge could imagine the look on Dawson’s face. It may have even resembled his own expression, as he could picture exactly how looking into Georgiana’s eyes made him feel.

  “I was right,” Dawson continued. “I’ve never known anyone so kind and unselfish, especially one as beautiful as she. Not only is Georgiana generous with her time and her talents, but she is also the most genuine, caring woman I have ever met. For some reason, just being near her makes you feel like you’re the luckiest man alive.” He paused briefly. “That was a year ago.

  “I’m afraid I must confess I was unsuccessful in keeping her from ever experiencing another painful moment like she did in the park that first day. Try as I might, every once in a while, when she thought no one was paying attention, I would see the look again. It’s a sort of deep and mournful sadness lurking just behind the smile in her eyes. Have you ever seen it?” When Ridge didn’t answer right away, Dawson answered for him. “No, of course you haven’t. Before I came here, I had noticed the look was never really ever gone, only that she was expertly skilled at hiding it most of the time . . . her mask only occasionally falling away.”

  Dawson stopped speaking, and Ridge pondered what he’d just said. Dawson was wrong. He had seen the same look when she had first arrived, but it hadn’t been long before it disappeared and was replaced by a look of contentment. It was as if Dawson read Ridge’s mind as he began speaking again.

  “I did not see it in her eyes tonight—not a trace. She’s happy here. Maybe she has finally made peace with what was causing her sorrow.” Ridge wondered at that. “I had hoped to convince her to come back with me.” Ridge felt his heart constrict. “I have sorely missed her. All the color seemed to leave my world when she left.” Ironically, Ridge could relate to that very thing. “But . . . maybe she’s not ready to return just yet. Maybe she has only just begun to make peace with what has pained her for so long. I would never want to undo any good that has been done here.”

  Ridge was surprised at Dawson’s last words. He expected him to be selfish, acting all high and mighty, but instead Dawson was acting as if he truly cared for Georgiana. Perhaps Angus was right, and he was a pretty decent man. This new revelation was painful to consider. No wonder Georgiana liked him so well. Maybe Dawson was more deserving of her than he could ever be. Ridge was deep in thought when Dawson spoke again.

  “I have asked her to marry me . . . more than once, actually.” This time when he sighed, it sounded tinged with frustration. “I don’t know what’s holding her back. I know she has feelings for me.”

  After hearing Dawson’s newest revelation, Ridge questioned why he had come to the bunkhouse. Ridge was tired, clear to his very bones. He didn’t want to think of Georgiana any more tonight. He didn’t want to think of anything. He just wanted to sleep.

  He had assumed Dawson would have been put up in the guest room of the ranch house. What had possessed Angus to have him sleep in the bunkhouse instead? Surely the city boy would have protested, wouldn’t he?

  Even as he thought it, Ridge knew the answer to both questions. Angus would not have allowed a man so clearly enamored with his granddaughter to sleep in the guest room, which bordered her own, even if the man appeared to have impeccable morals. Also, from what Angus had told him about Mr. Alexander, he knew the man was of good character, not haughty and self-absorbed as he had been expecting . . . or maybe as he had been hoping. Truth was, Ridge knew if it weren’t for the fact that Dawson was obviously the man Georgiana had chosen and desired, he would likely have befriended Mr. Dawson Alexander of his own accord. Ridge was surprised when he heard himself speak.

  “Give her time,” he advised Dawson. What was he saying? Was he actually giving advice to the man who wanted to marry and take away the woman he loved? But this man was who Georgiana chose, Ridge reminded himself, and he sensed the man’s feelings for her were genuine. Dawson would make her happy, and Ridge desired Georgiana’s happiness above all else. So he continued, “I ’spect she’s had a hard time of it comin’ back after so long. Though it was never her doin’, she feels guilty for leavin’ and never returnin’ to visit. She and her grandmother were close. Mrs. McLaughlin oft spoke of the day Georgie would return.” In the few days before they had gone to bring the cattle down, Georgiana had confided in him her sadness for not coming home until after her grandmother had died. “She’ll make her peace eventually, if she hasn’t already.”

  Ridge heard Dawson sigh, and the sigh sounded to be one of relief.

  “Thank you, Ridge . . . for being there for her today.” He sincerely added, “If I can repay you somehow, it will be an honor.”

  “Just doin’ my job. No thanks needed.” The statement sounded too blunt, but how else could he respond, considering?

  “Well, thank you again just the same,” Dawson proffered once more, and Ridge could see him roll onto his side again.

  When the room remained quiet for some time, Ridge was deeply relieved the conversation finally seemed to be over. His emotions were raw at this point, having felt he had relinquished his claim on the only woman he would ever love. Then Dawson once again broke the soothing silence.

  “I was jealous of you at first.”

  “Hmm,” was all Ridge dared respond.

  “We’d known each other for about six months when I was finally able to convince Georgiana into talking about her life here in Colorado.” Ridge perked up a little, long ago unanswered questions awakening in his mind. “I thought it strange she never referred to anything before moving to New York. She’d lived here for more than half of her life, and except for very rarely mentioning her father or grandparents, it was like this life never existed. I could sense, somehow, it was something that pained her terribly. I thought if I could get her to talk about it, maybe I could discover the hidden sadness about her. It was then she told me about you, her friend, Miss Wallace, and the friendship you three had shared. I could see by her expression how much it had cost her when she couldn’t return.”

  “Samantha took it pretty hard too, I remember.” Though he didn’t mention his own pain, he also had been devastated.

  “I thought at first, maybe you were the reason she wouldn’t commit to me. Some childhood crush she’d never gotten over. After she said your name that day, she looked away from me. I suspected she was trying to hide the emotion on her face
. When she told me she was returning to Colorado for a visit, I have to admit I was a bit worried.”

  Ridge thought of Georgiana’s admission earlier. Dawson had no need to worry. He’d won the battle, and Ridge would be licking his wounds for a long time.

  When Dawson spoke next, his voice sounded more confident. “I was relieved though, when after disembarking the stage, I overheard a pleasantly attractive woman mention your name in conversation. She was discussing with her companion what they would be wearing to the town social come Friday. She was speaking in that overly excited way that some women do. I am sure you know what I mean,” he chuckled softly. “She obviously thinks highly of you,” Dawson added, his voice pleased. “Though I can imagine why, since she went on to confide in her companion you were soon to be her intended.”

  “She did, did she?” Ridge was immediately fighting to keep his anger in check.

  “Yes,” Dawson agreed, obviously missing the irritation in Ridge’s voice. “When she turned and saw me standing there, she introduced herself. Miss Jamison, isn’t it? She seemed quite amiable.”

  Ridge didn’t trust himself to speak since he was gritting his teeth so hard. He was not, nor would he ever be, anything to Miss Cordelia Jamison. The woman was truly incorrigible. If it weren’t for his ma’s patient hand insisting Ridge be taught good manners despite being raised alongside cows and horses, Cordelia would know exactly what he thought of her. Obviously, avoiding her wasn’t enough. He would have to take a more drastic approach.

  “You can’t believe everything you hear, Mr. Alexander,” Ridge finally said, trying hard to keep his anger in check, “especially in a small town. Sometimes folks can’t find anything better to do than wag their tongues. Though I must admit, that little tidbit comes from a different source altogether.”