Trent swallowed past the sorrow burning in his throat. “I run the ranches with the help of my trusted hands.”
Mr. Standford smiled and nodded. “Let’s eat.” He lifted a silver bell. The ring brought two women from the kitchen. They hovered over each plate, adding chicken and boiled potatoes.
Trent eyed his host a moment longer, then glanced at Rosalind and Glover. Glover smirked and leaned over, whispering close to Rosalind’s ear.
Trent had to stay seated and keep a tight rein on his emotions, so he counted to ten, then to thirty. The conversations around the table continued, as did his counting. He thought of his land, the wide-open spaces. Ending his count at ninety, he stood. “If you’ll excuse me.” He strode out into the garden to clear his head, but memories met him there. He and Rosalind playing hide-and-seek when they were children. The time he’d chased her, causing her to fall and skin her knee. He’d gently wiped her tears then, heartbroken he’d hurt her. Her fourteenth birthday, when he’d plucked a pink rose from a bush in this very garden and slid it into her hair just above her ear, his thumb grazing her soft forehead.
He glanced around and made his way to the pink rose bush, near the center of the garden. Smiling, he held a petal between his fingers as he had back then, imagining how lovely she’d look now with a fresh bud in her hair, how soft her cheek would feel.
His hand fell. He shouldn’t think such things. Yet tonight, with her hair piled on top of her head, exposing the curve of her slender neck. Her rosy lips ...
“Hello, Trenton.”
He paused before turning at the sound of Rosalind’s voice. “How long have you been standing there?” Yet his tone rang of bitterness, and he hated himself for it, for the way it made her flinch.
She gave a weak smile. “Not long. You’ve been gone from the table for some time.”
“Only for a spell.” He glanced around, seeing nothing but the truth staring him in the face. “Where’s your husband?”
“Husband,” she said tightly. “I’m not married.”
Rosalind drew his gaze as he recalled their ride in the carriage. How she spoke of the children. “The little ones in your arms. William and Anna. You’re not married?”
“No. I am not.” She looked away, then moved farther into the garden. He followed as twilight began to fall. How could he not? He needed answers. He needed the truth.
Rounding several plants and a bed of red roses, she made her way to a bench and sat, her gown covering the surface. “Do you remember my sister, Sydney?”
“I do.” He hesitated, hanging on to her every word while a small flame of hope ignited inside him. “She married and moved away several months before we left.”
“Well, she lives here now with her husband, Joshua. They transferred him to the navy base in Charleston. I help care for my niece and nephew.”
“I see.” Although he didn’t know who Mr. Richards was to her, his heart and hopes soared, giving her no indication of what he felt as he searched her gray eyes.
She bit her lip and turned away. Silence spread between them.
What had he seen? Sadness? Pain? He had so many questions mixed with whys and what-ifs. But no matter how much he needed to know, he was more frightened of what he felt at this moment, standing before the woman he loved. He loved her. He simply loved her, and he couldn’t stand to see her in pain.
“How are you, Rosalind ... since your mother’s passing?”
She sniffled softly but didn’t speak.
“I’m terribly sorry for your loss. If I’d known, I’d have been here for you.”
“I ...”
Anguish whispered passed her lips, causing him to step toward her. “Rose.”
“I never thought you’d return.”
“I never stopped caring. Never stopped—”
“Maybe it would have been best if you had.”
Stunned, searching for something to say, he could barely breathe as his mind told him to retreat, but his heart told him to stay and fight. “I will always care. What we’ve meant to each other ...”
“We’re not the same people that we once were. Everything changed when Mother died. I’ve moved on. And so should you.”
How many times did she need to reject him before he’d accept the truth? He didn’t belong here, reminding her of the past—a future she wanted no part of.
She didn’t need him. Didn’t want him.
“I’m sorry.” He reached to tip his Stetson and realized it wasn’t there. “Excuse me.”
Trent found the way back through the garden and into the house. Everyone had moved into the parlor. He knew the protocol. It had been engraved in him as a child, but he was no longer a child, nor a resident of Boston.
If his parents wanted to stay in Boston, so be it. He’d make his own plans. By week’s end, he was going home.
When Trent left the garden, Rosalind stared after him. He would have been here? She stood from the bench and felt the blood drain from her face.
He would have been here.
To hold me.
To love me.
Oh, God ... why did You take him from me when I needed him the most? Why have You abandoned me? What have I done to deserve this?
But just like when she’d prayed for her mother’s life to be spared, tonight she heard no answers.
She dragged herself through the garden and entered the house, fighting against the questions and the turmoil churning her insides. At the top of the stairs, she hesitated, unable to take another step, though she should rejoin Glover and her father’s guests.
“Rosalind.”
She jumped at Trenton’s voice and quickly placed a palm against her chest. She spotted him coming toward her from his room down the hall. “I didn’t see you there.”
“I was waiting for you.” He glanced over the rail and down to the first floor, then at her. He ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know how much time we have to talk in private, but I must apologize. In the garden ... I didn’t mean to hurt you when I spoke of your mother or when I brought up the past. I came to Boston for many reasons, and one was to see how you are. As a friend. Not to disturb your life.”
“Friends?”
“Yes. After everything, Rosalind, we are friends. I care about you and your well-being. Don’t ever doubt that.”
She met the sincerity of his gaze, and the color of ocean blue stared back. She wanted to stay there and drown in the pools of his eyes.
He stepped toward her and lightly rubbed his index finger over the bridge of her nose and forehead. At first she didn’t realize what he was doing, but then the pleasure of a childhood memory seeped through. The need to be near him, to feel his touch, held her in place. Her skin tingled.
“See now, the wrinkles are gone, as is the worry.”
Heat rose to her cheeks. “You still seem to have a way of making things better.”
His eyes gleamed with pleasure, and the corners of his mouth lifted into a smile.
“Thank you,” she said finally, taking a step back. She’d missed this—their friendship, his teasing, his smile. Opening her bedroom door, she glanced back at him. “Good night, cowboy.”
“You’re welcome, ma’am.” He nodded and turned toward his room.
A shadow over the banister caught her attention and her body stiffened. Her gaze shifted to the darkened first floor and she listened for a moment but heard nothing.
Rosalind hurried into her room and closed the door. Moments later, three taps rapped against the wood. “Father.” She shut her eyes and took a heavy breath, wishing him away.
He barreled in and then closed the door behind him, his lips pressed into a fine line. “What on earth were you doing out in the hall with Trenton?”
She stood ramrod straight and pulled at the tips of her gloves, yanking them off. “Speaking to one another. We do share a hall to our rooms.”
“I thought I made myself clear before they arrived. If Glover had seen the two of you just now ...”<
br />
Her eyes grew wide. “He didn’t. Please, Father, tell me he didn’t.”
He came to her and gently placed his hands on her shoulders. “No, but I did. Glover’s testing you to see where your heart and loyalties lie. He knows of Trenton’s proposal.”
She frowned. “I don’t understand. How would he know?” Something passed over her father’s eyes. “You didn’t tell him, did you?”
Her father didn’t pause or even blink. “Yes. Some time ago.”
“Why? Why would you put his or the Eastons’ lives at risk with such a move? Did you think it would benefit you?” When her father averted her gaze, she knew her answer. “So it did.”
“I never thought they’d return. What harm would it have done?”
“Plenty. How could you?” She began to pace, fear mounting in her chest.
“Rosalind, you cannot let yourself love him.” He stepped in her path. “You will be married to Glover soon.”
She shook her head and backed away. “It’s too late. I never stopped loving him.”
“But I thought over time ...”
“You never understood. I pleaded. You wouldn’t allow me to answer Trenton’s proposal. I loved him. I could have been married now with a family of my own. Happy.”
His eyes reflected concern. “I can’t undo what I’ve done, but you need to be careful, Rosalind. Glover won’t tolerate another man giving you attention.”
“There’s no need to concern yourself. I have it on great authority Trenton cares for me only as a friend.”
“And whose great authority are you claiming?”
Her heart ached at the thought, but to voice those words ... “From Trenton himself. He cares for me as a friend and nothing more.” She lifted her chin as if the words hadn’t affected her, yet they had—deeply.
“Then he is a fool, but I’m glad.” Her father headed to the door. “Now, rest. Glover plans to pick you up early. You’re spending the day with him away from the house. I will see you in the morning.” He left, closing the door behind him.
Rosalind dropped onto the bed and laid her gloves beside her. Having collected her resolve, she urged her thoughts to what was expected, yet her heart rebelled. How could she marry a man she could never love and would always fear?
Chapter Five
Being near Rosalind these last few days and two doors down from where she slept was driving Trent mad. He rarely had a moment to speak with her. Glover was always close, dropping by throughout the day, every day, flaunting her in front of him at every turn.
He’d tell his parents that he simply must leave. But not today.
Trent climbed into the waiting carriage, where Rosalind was seated inside. They were going to church together, and he might get the chance to speak with her, unless of course Glover would be joining them. Trent sunk to the bench next to her.
“I’m glad your mother asked about attending church before I left,” Rosalind said, twisting her reticule strap around her gloved fingers. “A few minutes more and I’d have been gone.”
“Will Mr. Richards be joining us?” he asked.
“No. He doesn’t attend and neither does Father.” Her gaze slid to the carriage door. “My mother would want me to go, so I go alone.”
Something in her tone hinted at a deeper meaning, and Trent was curious to discover what it could be. Did Rosalind feel alone? She never cared to be alone. The thought dared Trent to reach for her hand and draw her close. Instead, he held himself in place. “It was nice of you to wait on our account.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” Rosalind looked to him. “You and your family mean the world to me.”
Again, there it was. Something seemed to pass between them and skirted over her eyes. From the moment he’d stepped into the carriage, everything was familiar but so different. And almost every word she spoke seemed cryptic. He wished for an opportunity to ask but held his tongue as his parents climbed into the carriage and sat across from them. The door closed, and within seconds they were moving.
“Thank you for allowing us to accompany you, Rosalind,” his mother said, tucking a few strands of hair under her hat.
“Glad to have the company.” Rosalind now followed his mother’s primping and adjusted her hat, elbowing Trent in the process. “I’m dreadfully sorry.” She squeezed her arms in close. “I didn’t mean ...” Her cheeks turned a dark pink against her green dress. She dropped her hands to her lap and glanced away.
Trent chuckled, drawing back to regard her profile. Wisps of brown hair graced her ear and cheek. “You may need to be careful in the future, Rosalind. I’d hate to have to retaliate.”
She turned to him with wide eyes, and he smiled. “You’re teasing me, Trenton.”
“Yes, ma’am. If I do it again, don’t be surprised.”
“And why is that?” She sat taller, biting her lip.
Trent had always loved teasing her, even more now. “Knowing I can make you blush after all these years is satisfying.” He reclined in his seat, catching his father’s stare. Yes, Rosalind was to be married to another man, and although Trent still loved her, he must keep his true feelings to himself. Yet, they were always playful growing up—climbing trees, teasing—and once, not so long ago, she was his. He wasn’t willing to give her up so easily, but what choice did he have?
Trent turned his attention out the window, intent on the passing city. He tugged on the collar of his white shirt, feeling the black carriage constrict around him. How could he walk this line of friendship when she held his heart?
A few minutes later they slowed to a stop in front of the church. Trent glanced at Rosalind, ready to assist her from the carriage, when the driver opened the door and reached in to help the women out. Trent stepped from the carriage and noted the gothic cathedral looked more worn then he remembered, but its scent of seasoned wood and musty books greeted him as they entered. High ceilings pointed skyward over the altar, the same altar where he gave his life to Jesus as a young boy. He smiled inwardly while his eyes scanned the wooden pews for a place to sit. Most were full, but Trent led Rosalind to a small opening while his parents found seats a few aisles over.
“Do you attend church where you live now?” Rosalind folded her gloved hands in her lap and faced forward.
“The church meets twice a month when the preacher comes to town. Less often during the harvest months or cattle drives, when men gather and work together to help families in the community.”
“Do you go as well? Travel, I mean. To help others?”
“I try to live the second commandment. ‘Love your neighbor as yourself’... and maybe help sheep in my spare time.”
She turned those beautiful gray eyes on him, brows furrowed. “Sheep? I thought you raise longhorns?”
Trent laughed and leaned in slightly, inhaling her light rose scent. How easy it would be not to walk the line of friendship. He inhaled her scent one final time and sat upright before he did something he couldn’t take back. “I’ve had a dream about sheep.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps soon I’ll start tending sheep.”
Later, as they traveled back to the Standford home, Trent considered the Scripture the preacher had read. Jesus asked Peter three times if he loved him, then said to feed his sheep. And the other verses about sheep in the book of Peter. That the shepherd, in times of suffering, would tend to his flock, feed them with God’s Word, and protect them. Did either passage have a connection to his dream? The sheep and the wolves?
“Son.”
Trent focused on his father. “Yes, sir?”
“Take your mother and Rosalind to the door, then meet me out front. I feel like a walk.”
Trent glanced out the carriage window in disbelief. He’d wasted his opportunity to speak with Rosalind. The driver opened the door, and Trent climbed out first. After helping his mother down, he reached for Rosalind’s gloved hand. Her light fingers rested in his palm. He wanted to keep her hand in his but released her and escorted them to the front door.
> “Thank you, son.” His mother smiled and unpinned her feathered hat as she entered.
Rosalind hesitated at the door. “Did you enjoy the service?”
More than you know. “I did. Hadn’t expected that message.”
“About sheep? God must be telling you something. When you figure it out, let me know.” She grinned. Her gaze roamed beyond his shoulder, and her smile disappeared. “I must go.”
Trent nodded but didn’t understand the hurry until he rounded the carriage. Glover stood beside his father.
“You remember Mr. Richards,” his father said, top hat in hand.
Saying it was nice to see him again would be a lie, but manners and the Great Commandment demanded he be kind. “Yes, I do. Hello.” He turned to his father. “Are you ready for our walk?”
“Mr. Richards, I hope you don’t think us rude, but we had planned to see the monument.”
“No, not at all. Please, enjoy yourselves.” Glover offered a stiff smile, then headed toward the house.
Trent took a deep breath. The man raked on his every last nerve, and yes, Rosalind was the cause, but there was something else—an uneasiness about the man Trent couldn’t quite shake.
They took several steps. “How are you doing?” his father asked as two boys scampered by at a fast pace, lobbing a ball back and forth.
On the corner ahead, a horse-drawn wagon clattered past. Maybe his father could help him reason through his problem. “It hurts to see Rosalind with Glover, but she must love him if they plan to marry. She deserves happiness after everything she’s been through.” Trent inhaled, missing Rosalind’s sweet scent as rising dust filled his nostrils. “I’m ready to go home. I don’t belong in Boston.”
“Your words to Rosalind while we were in the carriage ... I see the way you watch her. I fear Glover notices as well. Maybe it’s for the best.”
The Rescue Page 4