The Christmas Rose

by Pam Crooks

  Period.

  “‘No’ to all your suggestions, Miss Blanchard. Discussion closed.”

  Hardly aware of the cold on his bare skin, he left the pen and headed toward the water pump, a hankering for a bar of soap running strong within him. His shirt was soiled beyond wearing, and smelling like he did, he doubted Juliette would follow too close.

  He was wrong.

  Her fingers gripped his wrist and pulled with more strength than he expected. She moved quick, considering he was determined to put distance between them, and her nearness yanked the breath right out of his lungs.

  He’d forgotten that the top of her blonde head just reached his nose. But he hadn’t forgotten how finely-sculpted her features were, or the elegance of her cheekbones, or the fullness of her mouth. In spite of his own foul smell, the flowery scent of her perfume surrounded him and reminded him yet again just how female Juliette Blanchard was.

  “Tru. Please. I’m convinced we can reach a compromise,” she said.

  He pulled from her grasp. “I’m not.”

  He turned, kept going toward the pump, and her skirts rustled behind him.

  “But you don’t understand,” she said.

  “I understand plenty.”

  “My hotel would be perfect here.”

  “My cattle already are.”

  “But they don’t care where they live!”

  He gripped the pump handle to keep from throttling her. “I care.”

  Her bosom heaved, and Tru could almost taste the panic coursing through her. He swore under his breath, worked the handle with fierce motions, and thrust his arms under the icy, gushing water. He scrubbed himself clean, then because Juliette fired up his blood, he bent down and pushed his head into the stream. Bitterly cold water poured over his scalp and the back of his neck, clenching his teeth and stealing his breath.

  He felt better for it. He straightened, shoved the pump handle down with one hand and raked his fingers through his hair with the other.

  He glared at her. Dared her to continue arguing with him.

  But she seemed distracted with the water spilling over his shoulders and disappearing into the hair on his chest. Might be she wasn’t used to seeing a man naked from the waist up, and why did that have to please him?

  Her cheeks looked pinker than normal. She angled her face away, and her throat moved in a hard swallow.

  “You’re being infuriatingly stubborn, aren’t you?” she said, her voice hardly more than whisper.

  “That’s what the McCords have always done, isn’t it, Juliette?” he taunted. “Infuriate the Blanchards?”

  Her mouth tightened, and she swung back to face him. “Is that your final answer then? You refuse to sell to me?”

  “As final as can be.”

  “No matter what price I offer you?”

  He made no response. He didn’t need to.

  Her breath quickened. “I’ll do anything, Tru. I swear it.”

  His brow arched. She would, would she? There were a variety of ways she could entice him to sell, none of them very honorable. Did she intend to prostitute herself for her precious hotel?

  “Anything?” he murmured.

  He knew it cost her plenty to lower herself to him like this. It amused him, a Blanchard falling to the level of a McCord.

  “Anything,” she said.

  An idea bloomed in his brain, one so far-fetched she would never in their combined lifetimes agree. But she’d tossed down the glove and waited to see if he accepted the challenge.

  He did.

  “Come to think of it, there is one thing you could do,” he said, his voice low.

  Hope sprang into the deep violet-blue of her eyes. “Name it.”

  His mouth formed a cold smile. “If you want my land, you’ll have to marry me for it.”

  Chapter 3

  The shock left Juliette speechless.

  Marry him?

  Tru’s mouth quirked. Clearly, he took pleasure in seeing her stunned reaction, and it was all Juliette could do to cling to her composure and keep from banging her fists against his stubborn skull in frustration.

  “Is that your idea of a joke, Tru?” she demanded hoarsely. “Because if it is, it’s most inappropriate.”

  “I’ve never been more serious.”

  “I’m trying to conduct a business deal with you, not a betrothal of marriage!”

  “In this instance, they’re one and the same.”

  She gaped at him. “They’re not!”

  “You know the terms, Juliette. Take ‘em or leave ‘em.”

  He had the audacity to walk away from her, then. Just left her standing there, staring, without another word in her brain to say.

  Because he’d said it all.

  Of course, she wouldn’t marry him. He knew she wouldn’t. Marry him for his land? What kind of ridiculous proposition was that?

  She’d done everything but fall at his feet and beg. If she thought it’d do any good, she’d beg the whole day long. But Tru wasn’t going to budge, no matter what she said or did, with one ridiculous exception.

  Marriage.

  Absolutely ridiculous.

  Oblivious to the cold, he strolled toward the cabin with his shirt carelessly slung over his shoulder. His nonchalance proved he knew the power he held over her—and it suited him. His back was broad and rippled with muscle. Even his buttocks were tight beneath the denim of his Levi’s. He walked with the lithe, unhurried gait of a man who was in control.

  Which, of course, he was.

  She resisted the stir of sexual heat that slid through her blood and pulled her stare away. It rankled he could affect her so when he didn’t care one bit about her resort or the potential of its success, not only to her career and her pathetic financial situation, but to the eastern part of the state of Nebraska.

  She chewed on her lower lip. What would Father do?

  She had to get away from Tru and think. Go back to her room at the hotel and re-plan her strategy. Find Tru’s weak spot. Something, anything, she could use to convince him to sell.

  He disappeared into the cabin, obviously done with her, and she stared at the closed door, her breath holding in hopes it would open again. That Tru would apologize and explain his ultimatum was only a joke. A silly way of throwing her off kilter and that, yes, sirree, he would be sure and sell her his three hundred acres.

  Of course, the door didn’t open.

  Of course, he didn’t say any of those things.

  Yet her stare stayed, taking in the place. The McCords’ home was basic, built of rough-hewn logs, but well maintained. A single step led up to a porch that extended along most of the exterior. Jutting up proudly through the drab, dormant grass, a lone bush grew at the base of the foundation. A rose bush, of all things, its leaves as lush and green as if it were the middle of July. How odd, that bush, flourishing this time of year, and her gaze held on the lone bud that grew tall and flamboyant, like a cadet in a parade.

  In a burst of impatience, she yanked her gaze away. She had no time to think of such frivolity. Who cared if Tru McCord had a rose bush that thrived in the cold Nebraska winter? She had more important matters to think about. Mainly, her precious hotel and his three hundred acres.

  Tru McCord hadn’t seen the last of her. Not by a long shot.

  With a resolved squaring of her shoulders, she headed back to the rig, but the carriage sat empty. Exasperated, she scanned the premises, even the road leading back to Omaha. Camille was supposed to be waiting for her, so where was she?

  “Over there,” the rig’s driver said in a loud whisper and, grinning, he pointed toward the barn.

  Juliette frowned. She couldn’t see her sister there or anywhere else in the vicinity, but she strode closer to have a better look, past the front of the cabin, ignoring the odd rose bush, around the corner and down the side. By the time she reached the back, the stock pen loomed just ahead.

  She’d come full circle, and Camille was nowhere to be found.
Juliette set her hands on her hips and endured the first bite of worry.

  It wasn’t like her sister to wander off, and where would she go, anyway?

  Wavering between concern and exasperation, Juliette stepped away from the cabin to investigate the perimeter of the barn. But movement in a stand of cottonwood and elm trees beyond froze her in mid-step. There, in the shadows, stood Camille and Ryan McCord, wrapped tight in each other’s arms like a couple of kittens in a basket, acting positively starved for each other.

  Juliette leapt backward and pressed herself against the rough-hewn side of the cabin. Surely she’d been mistaken. What she saw wasn’t what she thought she saw. It was merely an illusion, that’s all. A shadowy, fuzzy illusion.

  She looked again, but the second time confirmed the first. She flattened herself against the cabin again, her heart thundering, her eyes closed tight.

  This couldn’t be happening. Camille . . . and Ryan?

  “They’re entitled to a little privacy, don’t you think?”

  Tru’s voice cut through her dismay, and her eyes flew open. Dressed in a fresh shirt and his coat, he moved right in front of her. The breadth of his shoulders blocked her view, as if he was protecting them from her discovery.

  Or maybe he was protecting her.

  She leaned sideways to see past him, driven by some crazy need to see Camille locked in Ryan’s embrace once again, just to make sure she wasn’t mistaken. Again. “You know about this?”

  He gripped her elbow and pulled her away from the cabin. “Have for a while now.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Wasn’t my place.”

  “Not your place?” Juliette sputtered. Her steps quickened to keep up with his as he herded her toward the front yard and the waiting carriage. “Just how long did the three of you intend to keep this—this relationship from me?”

  “Reckon that’s something you’ll have to take up with your sister.”

  They reached the rig, and Juliette spun toward him. “It’s not like Camille to do this. We’re very close. She must have been coerced somehow.”

  Tru’s eye narrowed. “What are you saying, Juliette? That it was Ryan’s fault Camille deceived you?”

  Her mouth opened to blurt that it was typical of a McCord to be unscrupulous when it suited him, that a McCord would resort to less than honorable measures to get what he wanted.

  But Ryan wasn’t acting alone in that kiss. Camille was an active and willing participant.

  Juliette’s mouth closed again. “No, I’m not saying that.”

  He unlatched the carriage door. “Then it’s best to be open-minded. Camille’s old enough to make her own decisions.”

  “She’s young, Tru.” Troubled, Juliette studied him. His features lacked condemnation or worry. How could he be so calm? “They both are.”

  “She’s older than you were before things fell apart between us. We’d shared plenty of kisses by then. Neither of us were thinking of age when the passion was running hot, were we?”

  The past leapt up and crashed in on her from his low-voiced challenge, vivid memories she long ago refused to think about. She’d reconciled herself to the fact that getting involved with Tru had been a big mistake.

  One she intended Camille would never make with Ryan.

  It would hurt too much.

  “They’ve never even courted, Tru. They hardly know each other. Besides, New York is our home. We’ll be returning there as soon as plans for my hotel are finalized. We’re spending Christmas there. Camille has no room for Ryan in her life.”

  Tru caught Juliette by the waist to lift her into the carriage. Startled, she grasped his biceps, and the bulge of hard muscle warmed her palms. He settled her in the seat, then released her, but the strong, capable feel of his hands against her lingered.

  “You can’t keep doing her thinking for her,” he said.

  “Camille already knows my thinking.”

  “Going to have to cut the apron strings with her. Hard as it is to accept that, it’s for your own good. And hers.”

  Juliette chafed at his persistence. “Perhaps Ryan is ignorant of the implications of what he’s doing. I would appreciate it if you would speak to him of my disapproval. As I intend to do with Camille.”

  “The hell I will,” he growled.

  She arched a brow. “Then I’ll speak to him myself. This affair must stop immediately.”

  Tru stepped closer, and barely-suppressed anger emanated from him. “You’re on McCord land, Juliette. There’ll be no confrontation from a Blanchard here. Ryan is free to make his own decisions about the woman he wants in his life. You’re not going to tell him otherwise.”

  Though it rankled, Juliette knew to hold her tongue. Tru’s wrath was a formidable thing. She’d do well not to anger him further, not when she needed his land so desperately.

  She swung her head, letting her defiance show, but not acting on it. Ryan and Camille were approaching from the barn, a respectable distance between them, as if they were out for a leisurely stroll.

  As if their kisses never happened.

  But they had, and Juliette intended to give Camille a good piece of her mind as soon as they returned to Omaha.

  Camille’s happy chattering on the way back to the hotel wilted Juliette’s resolve.

  All because of the glow in her sister’s cheeks. The sparkle in her eyes. The way her voice sang gaily with every word she spoke.

  Ryan McCord had done that to her.

  Juliette couldn’t recall seeing Camille this exuberant, not in a very long time anyway, and certainly not since they moved East. Her sister had been slow to recover from the scarlet fever and reluctant to enter New York society. If not for her studies to occupy her time and mind, Juliette was sure Camille would’ve become a recluse, and Juliette had worried for her constantly.

  How Ryan entered her life, she had no idea. Camille had a great deal of explaining to do, but Juliette was reluctant to demand it of her just yet.

  Clearly, she was in love with the young man. Juliette’s surreptitious gaze lingered on the rosy fullness of her sister’s lips. Ryan had kissed her most thoroughly, she mused, and an unexpected jolt of hot memories rushed through her.

  Tru had kissed her the same way. Fierce, possessive kisses that always left her on fire and hungry for more. An addiction that begged for quelling.

  A need.

  But on a sudden wave of dismay, she yanked herself back to reality. She had to stop remembering. Her plans for herself and Camille were spiraling out of control, and if she wasn’t very careful, she’d lose everything she worked three long years for.

  Camille couldn’t continue her relationship with Ryan. Absolutely not. She had to overcome the power he held over her. She didn’t yet know Juliette saw them in the shadows beyond the barn. Tru had acted as if nothing unusual happened, and Juliette followed his lead.

  But by the time they reached the privacy of their hotel room, she could wait no longer.

  Humming softly, Camille sat at the vanity and began removing the pins from her hair.

  “What’s this?” Juliette asked, forcing a teasing lilt into her voice. “Getting ready for bed already? It’s barely noon.”

  Beaming, Camille met her gaze in the mirror. “Ryan has asked me to dinner tonight. I’m going to spend the afternoon getting ready.”

  “Oh?” Juliette managed to act nonchalant. “We agreed you’d call on Sarah today so the two of you could go Christmas shopping.”

  Camille shook her head slowly. “No, Juliette. You said I was going shopping with Sarah today. I never agreed to the outing.”

  Had that been the way of the conversation? Juliette frowned. “I don’t think dinner with Ryan is a good idea.”

  Camille whirled toward her. “Because he’s a McCord.”

  Juliette hesitated. “Among other things.”

  “I knew you’d be narrow-minded about him.”

  The accusation stung. Juliette had always prided her
self on her liberal point of view. The McCords, it seemed, were an exception to her thinking. “You’re wrong to accuse me so rashly, Camille, when it is you who has been deceitful. And I’m not talking about dinner, either.”

  The color faded from Camille’s cheeks, taking her happiness right along with it, and in spite of everything, Juliette regretted seeing it go. “You saw us, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And now you’re going to forbid me from ever seeing him again.”

  “Camille.” Juliette softened her voice, imploring her sister to listen to reason. “Your affair with him has no place in our lives.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Our home is in New York. Not Nebraska.”

  “I want to stay here.”

  Juliette blinked. “In Omaha?”

  “I’m not going back East. I’m spending Christmas with Ryan, this year and every year after.” Camille lifted her chin, the rebellion building in her features. “I’ve made up my mind.”

  Christmas? Juliette had never seen her so adamant. “I’m sure you’re caught up with the novelty of seeing Ryan and all, but, truly, you must distance yourself from him. It’s not fair to lead him on.”

  “I’m doing no such thing!” Camille gasped.

  “Nothing can come from your relationship with him.”

  “I’m in love with him! And he’s in love with me.”

  Love? Love? Juliette strove for calm. “What you’re feeling is a good dose of infatuation and some lust thrown in, that’s all.” She refrained from reminding Camille of her lack of interaction with the male gender in New York, that her social life was virtually non-existent. Surely Ryan’s attentions seemed more exciting because of it. “Once we’re back in New York, you’ll forget him. We’ll expand our circle of friends. You’ll meet someone new in no time.”

  “I don’t want to meet anyone else.”

  Juliette gritted her teeth in frustration. “You’re talking nonsense, Camille. We’ve begun new lives in New York since Father and Mama died. Your doctors are there, some of the best in the country. I have my career there. Besides, where would we be without Aunt Louise? She’s helped us immensely. She loves us like we’re her own daughters.”