Although he wouldn't admit it, she suspected she had guessed the reason for the puppies. Drats. It was difficult to stay mad at someone who would do something this—this outrageous, just to save a man's pride. The big question now was, what did he intend to do with them? Surely he couldn't keep them all, although he did have the space, now that he owned Callie's house. The back yard was spacious, and with a little work, he could build a shelter and put up a fence...
"No."
Startled, Rosalyn looked at Christian. He watched her with that same, stubborn look. “I beg your pardon?” She hadn't actually spoken her thoughts aloud, had she?
"No, I'm not keeping them. I saw that look on your face, and I'm not keeping them."
With wide-eyed innocence, she said, “I don't recall suggesting you keep them. After all, they're not my responsibility, so why should I care—"
"Rosalyn, in about three seconds, I'm going to bend you over my knee—” His warning growl scared the puppies. They yelped and ran for cover—which in this instance was the folds of her coat. In no time, Rosalyn saw nothing but the tips of their quivering tails.
"Would you stop growling! You're frightening the babies."
"They're not babies."
"They are,” she insisted, having the time of her life. Christian Garret was clearly uncomfortable with his new responsibilities. Well, she wasn't about to let him forget them. “They'll need a warm home until they're big enough to be put outside, and plenty of warm milk. You could use Callie's woodshed—"
"No!” he thundered.
A brave soul crept out from behind her and barked at Christian in her defense, apparently sensing danger in his tone. Rosalyn patted her champion on the head. His tail wagged importantly. “Good boy. But don't worry, his bark's bigger than his bite."
"We'll see about that,” Christian announced, just before he cupped her neck and brought her mouth to his. The puppy squeaked and narrowly avoided getting caught in the crush as he scampered back to safety.
Just for a warm, wonderful moment, Rosalyn allowed her mouth to relax. And in that moment, Christian succeeded in devastating her senses. His tongue swept her bottom lip, then her upper lip, then slipped inside to slide sensuously against her teeth. With little urging, she opened to him, letting him deepen the kiss. His lips were cool, yet searing. Her head began to spin, her bones began to wither into ashes. Good Heavens, it took so little to reduce her to—
She pushed at his chest, sternly reminding herself that he believed her to be a thief. There could be no relationship between them with so little trust. Besides that, she couldn't think when he kissed her, and when she couldn't think, anything could happen. A sobering reminder.
After a heart-faltering hesitation, Christian released her. She looked into his heavy-lidded, slightly glazed eyes, wondering if her own expression reflected his. With supreme effort, she turned her head. With him staring at her that way...
One by one, the puppies emerged from their hiding place. They continued to regard Christian with wary trepidation, but when he remained silent, they promptly forgot him.
Thinking of anything but that kiss they'd just shared, Rosalyn stroked the puppies. They began to settle, and soon the motion of the carriage lulled them to sleep. Four skinny puppies piled on her lap ... she couldn't be safer, could she? She risked a peek at Christian, but all she could see was the firm line of his jaw as he gazed out the window.
They traveled through the tunnel of ice-crusted trees without mishap—and without further conversation. Maybe he was tiring of his new game already, Rosalyn thought, torn between hopefulness and disappointment.
Before they departed from the Dillon's, Rosalyn had instructed Willis to drop her off at the factory when they got into town so that she could collect her deliveries for the day. Surely then, Christian would go the opposite way?
As they reached their destination on Main Street, Rosalyn gathered the puppies, and one by one, gently lowered them onto Christian's lap. She gave them a final, affectionate pat to their bumpy heads. “Well, I'm sure you've got other business to attend to,” she began politely, “So I'll say goodbye, and thank you for accompanying me—"
"I'll wait here while you get your packages.” He folded his arms and propped a lazy foot onto his knee, nearly spilling the puppies onto the seat.
Rosalyn grabbed a handful of puppy as he scrambled to keep from falling and replaced him, careful not to touch the muscled thigh so close to her fingertips. “Be careful! They're so small.” Her scolding drew a smile from Christian. “What are you planning to do with them?” She didn't like the underlying secretiveness in that smile. He was up to something.
"You'll see.” He lifted a dark brow. It disappeared beneath his hat. “Shouldn't you hurry? We stayed longer than we should have at the Dillon's..."
"Yes, yes, I should.” Not knowing what else to say, and suspecting he wasn't going to enlighten her, Rosalyn allowed Willis to help her from the carriage.
Ten minutes later, she returned with her packages—three deliveries, and one she dreaded most heartily, along with a sack filled with the proceeds from the fund-raiser. She was to take the money to the Davidsons after her deliveries. Her own prize money was tucked away in her pocket, to be added to the proceeds. Soon, Jamy would have a warm home in which to recover, and Mrs. Davidson and her daughters would have food and shelter, too. Rosalyn worried over the delay, and prayed they weren't too late.
The puppies greeted her as if she'd been gone for hours instead of minutes, barking and whining for attention. She set her packages on the floor and gathered them to her, crooning silly nonsense.
She glanced up and caught Christian looking at her oddly.
Giving nothing away, he said, “I've got to make a stop at Callie's house, if you don't mind."
Rosalyn wouldn't give him the satisfaction of appearing curious. She shrugged, glancing at the packages at her feet with a frown. “I'm not in any hurry to reach Ethel Poole's house with her valentine."
Christian followed her gaze, then looked at her with a question in his eyes. “Oh?"
Ah, ha! Rosalyn thought with gleeful triumph. She deliberately deepened her troubled frown. “Well, I'm not at liberty to say.” Toying with her lip, she darted a quick glance at his face. He was smiling. Reluctantly, her lips twitched.
"You minx,” he muttered softly.
You devil, Rosalyn thought.
* * * *
At Callie's house, Christian gathered two of the puppies in his arms, leaving Rosalyn to follow with the rest of the brood. He led the way to the door, knocked, then stood aside, watching Rosalyn's face intently. She looked wary and confused.
He felt curiously light-hearted and relaxed.
When Mrs. Davidson opened the door to his knock, Rosalyn nearly dropped the squirming puppies. “Mrs. Davidson! What are you ... doing here?” She blushed becomingly, obviously realizing how rude she sounded. Her questioning gaze flew to Christian's.
Christian shifted a puppy, holding his innocent expression with difficulty. “Mrs. Davidson,” he greeted smoothly. “May we come in for a moment?"
Mrs. Davidson, looking much younger and tidier, beamed at Christian. “'Course you can! It's your house, you big dolt."
He nearly choked with laughter at Rosalyn's open-mouthed surprise. She stared at Mrs. Davidson until he grabbed her elbow and pushed her along, reminding of where she was—standing in the cold.
Once inside the warm house, Christian handed the puppies to Mrs. Davidson, smiling a rueful apology as he asked, “Would you mind caring for these little scamps until I can find them a good home? I hate to impose—"
"Nonsense!” Mrs. Davidson took the puppies, shaking her head as if she couldn't imagine anyone offering for them. “Ugly mites, ain't they? But good bloodline.” She nodded at Christian. “Don't you worry, we'll keep'em warm and fed until someone takes ‘em off our hands."
Footsteps pounded on the stairs. Holly and Julie came into view, sliding to a halt at the sight o
f the squirming puppies in their mother's arms.
It was hard to believe the change in the two little girls in just a few days. Their cheeks bloomed with color, and if Christian didn't know better, he'd swear they looked pounds heavier. A glance at Rosalyn confirmed that she, too, noticed the difference a little warmth and nourishment could make.
After several minutes of chaos, the girls took the puppies and went to find a box for them to sleep in. Christian watched them go, suspecting he'd already found a home for at least one of the poor things. One down, three to go. Hopefully, he would find others who could overlook their homely appearance.
Mrs. Davidson led them upstairs for a brief visit with Jamy. They found him sitting up in bed, pale but improved, and unashamedly glad to see them. Rosalyn rushed to his side, her concern and relief at finding him better obviously genuine.
Christian stood back from the bed, watching her face as she smiled and fussed over the young boy. Finally, after she seemed satisfied he was on the mend, she set the sack of money on the bed and pulled an envelope from her coat pocket, adding it to the pile.
Instinctively, Christian knew this was the prize money she'd won for her valentine, now in his possession.
A cozy warmth seeped into his chest at the selfless gesture. His vision blurred for an instant, and he blinked rapidly in surprise. How sentimental he was getting these days. And confused. This was the woman who had lied to him, yet here she was, handing her own money over to a needy family without a trace of hesitation. He knew she could use the money for the education she so desperately desired, which made the giving that much more astonishing.
Was it possible she had planned this, knowing he would be a witness? Just to trick him into thinking she wasn't a thief? Christian was ashamed of his thoughts, but couldn't stop the suspicion from taking root in his mind. He'd trusted her before, and she'd made a fool of him. Long ago, he'd decided women were masters at manipulation, and certainly Rosalyn was no exception, as he very well knew.
No, her sweet, innocent face was a front, hiding a shrewd, conniving mind...
"We held a fund raiser and took in this money, Jamy, so that you and your mother and sisters could find a decent home until you are well enough to return to work. We all miss you."
Mrs. Davidson shrieked with joy and hugged a speechless Jamy. Tears glimmered in both pairs of eyes as they stared first at the money, then at Rosalyn as if she were singularly responsible for such a miracle. Mrs. Davidson made a half-hearted attempt to reject the gift. “We couldn't..."
Rosalyn was firm. “You can and you will. There's no shame in needing help, Mrs. Davidson. We've all encountered times of need, haven't we Christian?” She turned her bright gaze on him, and without thought, he nodded. It was true, there had been times when he and his mother would have appreciated a kind gesture such as the one the townspeople had shown the Davidsons.
But there had been no help, no one to turn to except his grandmother, who demanded her own special payment for taking them in. Unstinting loyalty, sometimes at the cost of his integrity and against his better judgement. Now Rosalyn ... according to Mr. Toombs and what Christian had gleaned so far, had had no one, no grandmother, no doting group of factory workers and an employer with a big heart. She had been desperate, alone, and thrown from the only home she had known for some time. In taking the rubies, she had only been ensuring her survival in a mostly indifferent world.
Finding Miss Howland when she did had been a stroke of pure luck, he suspected. Otherwise, she might have sold the rubies for lodging and food. To survive.
"Christian? We should be going."
He blinked, her misty-eyed expression locking onto his heart before he could erect the walls that kept such nonsense from getting through and weakening his defenses. How could anyone pretend so convincingly? Could he be wrong about her? He cleared his throat, forcing a smile for Jamy. “Yes, we should. I said I wouldn't take long.” He turned to Mrs. Davidson, wondering dazedly if Rosalyn had any idea how thoroughly she had burrowed beneath his skin. “You won't mind keeping the pups for a while?"
Mrs. Davidson waved him away, her worshipful expression making Christian uncomfortable. “Told you, wouldn't be no trouble. Look how much you've done for us? Letting us stay here till Jamy gets well, feedin’ us like we was kings, spoiling my girls with—"
Embarrassed, Christian quickly interrupted her, “I've got Mr. Toombs looking for a decent, affordable lodging. It shouldn't take him long to come up with something in a town this size."
"You're too kind, Mr. Garret, and I'll always be grateful to ya. It's—it's nice here, but I miss having my own place.” Mrs. Davidson wiped her teary eyes on her apron, turning to Rosalyn. “Ain't he just the best? My Paddy was a good man—"
Jamy's harsh voice was nearly unrecognizable. “He was not a good man, Ma! He left us without a penny!"
Mrs. Davidson marched to the bed and glared at her son through rid-rimmed eyes. “Don't you talk about your Pa that way—"
Christian silently motioned Rosalyn from the room. The sound of mother and son quarreling faded as they descended the stairs and let themselves out into the cold winter day.
Once outside the closed door, Christian stopped Rosalyn with a hand on her arm. Gently, he turned her and raised her chin with his finger. When she lifted her damp lashes, he sucked in a harsh breath. Her eyes were huge and eloquent. God, but she was a beauty! “Why the tears, Rosalyn? You should be happy, not sad.” He watched her swallow, fighting the tears hovering on the brink of falling to her flushed cheeks. If they fell, he would kiss each one away, he vowed.
She swallowed again, her voice husky. “You—that—I can't believe your kindness,” she admitted. “Letting them stay here, in Callie's house while Jamy recovers. Not many people would be so generous."
Christian chuckled wryly, remembering his doubts about her sincerity with Jamy. It seemed they both possessed distrustful natures. “The people in this town have been kind to me.” He brushed off her compliment with an awkwardness he always felt when caught helping others. “I suspect you gave a little more than you had to, didn't you?” When she tried to drop her gaze, he nudged his finger up. “Was that money you pulled from your coat the money you won for the valentine, Rosalyn?"
She closed her eyes and shrugged. “They needed it,” she said simply.
"And college? Couldn't you have used that money for college?” he persisted softly. For himself, it was different. He was as rich as chocolate cake, as the bootmaker had so quaintly put it. But Rosalyn—to his knowledge—wasn't, with the exception of the rubies, which she wouldn't have much longer.
After a brief hesitation, she opened her eyes. They had softened to a deep, liquid brown and Christian found himself wishing he were the cause but knowing he wasn't. She was probably thinking about Jamy and his sisters, and poor Mrs. Davidson, who's drastic change had amazed her.
"I wasn't expecting the money, so it doesn't matter, does it? We should be going...” This time when she tried to pull away from his finger, he let her go, watching her hurry to the waiting carriage.
He met the avid gaze of Willis and scowled, but without anger. Willis grinned impudently back, undaunted.
As Christian slowly followed, he wondered if he and Rosalyn would always be at odds with one another. Would they ever learn trust? More specifically, did she possess a forgiving heart?
And for God's sake, did she feel that same, mindless need when she was in his arms, as he did? What was it about Rosalyn Mitchell, he wondered, that made him incapable of thinking of anything else but her?
Maybe when they got this business of the valentine out of the way, they could start over, for he could not imagine forgetting about her. He knew his life would never be the same. Without her, it would be empty, meaningless.
In fact, for quite some time he'd known she was unforgettable, and couldn't imagine not seeing her every day.
Was this ... Christian swallowed nervously, and climbed into the carriage. Despite the c
old, his impossible train of thought caused sweat to spring to his brow. Was this love, then? The kind of love he'd always scoffed at, and didn't believe in? The kind of love Rosalyn did believe in, and witnessed on a day-to-day basis, like the love Mr. Dillon had for his wife, and she for him?
Did it, then, actually exist?
Of course, it could be lust and nothing more. Unrequited lust, he reminded himself. But for some unfathomable reason, the familiar excuse had lost its logic.
"Where to, Miss Mitchell?” Willis adjusted his toboggan and stomped his cold feet as he waited outside the carriage window for instructions.
Christian watched Rosalyn's features as she appeared to wage a silent battle with herself. Finally, with a fatalistic shrug, she said, “To Ethel Poole's house, Willis. I might as well get this over with."
"Again, Miss?” Willis gave her an unmistakable sympathetic smile, further piquing Christian's curiosity.
What was going on? What was so terrible about Ethel Poole? And was he honestly concerned over a damned valentine delivery? Yes, he thought in amazement, he by God was!
"I suggest you wait in the carriage when we arrive."
He snapped his gaze around at the sound of Rosalyn's amused, resigned comment. Obviously, he'd failed to hide his curiosity about something he scarcely believed concerned him.
Embarrassed, but determined to hide the unmanly condition, he feigned nonchalance. “I can hardly record history sitting in the carriage."
"We both know that's a farce, anyway, Christian.” When he narrowed his eyes in warning, she continued on rather hastily. “Suit yourself, but be warned, there could be flying objects."
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