Laredo sat on the thin mattress and nursed his aching ribs. They hurt a little less now that the aspirin had had time to take effect. Without asking, Savannah had handed him the pills after dinner, as if she knew intuitively how uncomfortable he’d been. She continued to fascinate him, but it was abundantly clear that her big brother wasn’t keen on Laredo hanging around her. Not that Laredo blamed him. If Savannah was his sister, he’d keep a close eye on her, too.
Following dinner, they’d transplanted the old roses she’d found that day. Afterward she’d proudly walked him through the flower garden, telling him the names of various plants, describing their characteristics. She grew azaleas, rhododendrons and many others, some of which he’d never seen before. A hedge of sunflowers separated the flowers from a small herb garden. And then there were her roses.
As she led him down the narrow pathways of her rose garden, she stopped to tell him about each one. It was almost, he thought fancifully, as if she were introducing him to her children. Little pieces of her heart, planted and nourished in fertile ground. From the way her roses flourished, she’d obviously lavished them with love and care.
The rows of old roses were what impressed him most—but no less than Savannah’s knowledge of their histories. She was able to tell him where each one had come from and when it was first grown. Gesturing in her enthusiasm, she lost her large straw hat; Laredo stooped to pick it up. She smiled as he returned it, but didn’t interrupt her history of the Highway 290 Pink Buttons—small roses with double blossoms. Found in this part of Texas, she told him proudly. Her voice was full of reverence as she spoke of the inherent beauty of the old roses, their perfect scent, their ability to survive.
When they’d finished walking around the garden, she wrote out a list of tasks she had in mind for him. Laredo listened carefully, had her show him where he’d find the supplies he’d need and promised to get started first thing in the morning. He was eager to prove she hadn’t made a mistake by hiring him, and that her trust in him had been well placed. Saying it was one thing, but the proof was in the results.
In the morning, as soon as he finished dealing with his truck, he planned to be in that rose garden working his fool head off. It wasn’t wrangling, wasn’t what he knew best, but if he treated the roses with the same respect and appreciation he did a good quarter horse, then he’d do fine.
“Cowboy, you got everything you need?” A froggy male voice cut into Laredo’s musings, startling him. He swiveled around to find an older man standing just inside the large bunkhouse. Two rows of beds lined the floor—like an army barracks; at the other end was a door leading to the foreman’s private room.
“Wiley Rogers,” the foreman said.
“Laredo Smith. And yes, thanks, I’m fine for now. I have some stuff in my truck—clothes and such—but I can get those in the morning.” He stood and moved toward the man. They exchanged brusque handshakes.
Rogers had to be sixty if he was a day, with legs bowed from too many years in the saddle. “Hear you’re workin’ for Savannah,” he said with a friendly smile.
Laredo nodded.
The foreman chuckled and rubbed his unshaven jaw, eyeing Laredo carefully. Whatever his opinion, he was keeping it to himself. “If that don’t beat all,” he muttered, still grinning. “Never thought I’d see the day...”
“Beg your pardon?”
“It’s nothing,” Wiley said. After a moment’s reflection he revised his statement. “Actually it is something, but you wouldn’t understand. Nice meetin’ you, Laredo. You need anything else, just give me a holler.”
“Thanks, I will.” He sat back down on the bed as Wiley retired to his room and closed the door.
Once the lights were out, Laredo lay on his back and stared up at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to claim him. He should’ve been dead to the world by now. He was exhausted. And for the first time in days the pain in his side had dulled. His belly was full and he had employment, of sorts. He didn’t know how long Savannah would find enough tasks to keep him busy, but he didn’t imagine this job would last more than a week or two.
As soon as he found out what was wrong with the truck and had it repaired, he’d hit the road. In hindsight, Earl Chesterton had done him a favor by firing him. Although it sure as hell dented his ego to lose that job, especially under those circumstances. His jaw tightened every time he thought about being accused of theft.
But he was determined to look at this as a blessing in disguise—what his grandmother would have called it. Finding himself unexpectedly jobless was just the incentive he needed to head back to Oklahoma and pursue his dream of breeding and selling quarter horses. After talking about it for years, he was actually going to do it. With the bitterness of being fired from the Triple C Ranch came the sweetness of this chance to live his dream. Even knowing it would mean years of sacrifice, the thought of being his own boss and living on his own land excited Laredo.
Intent on sleeping, he closed his eyes and tried to empty his mind. To his surprise a vivid image of Savannah appeared, clear as anything. He studied her a long while, this warm, gentle woman who’d come so fortuitously into his life. She was a comfortable person, and she possessed a kind heart. He liked Savannah Weston, but then it was impossible not to like her. In fact—even more than that—he found himself attracted to her. Strongly attracted.
It was years since a woman had captivated him the way Savannah had. She wasn’t like other women he’d known. He’d never felt relaxed or easy around the opposite sex, but Savannah brought out his every protective instinct. She was shy but genuine, and he liked that. He liked that a lot. Pretty, too, without being flashy. He sensed that despite her quiet unassuming manner she had courage and strength. She reminded him a bit of the frontier women he’d read about who’d helped tame the territory of Texas. Especially with those long dresses she wore.
Her brother, on the other hand, was another matter. Hardheaded, stubborn, suspicious. Laredo had taken exception to the way Grady spoke to his sister, but it wasn’t his place to get involved in their family affairs.
No, sir.
He’d work here while there was work to be had, get his truck back in good running order, then head for Oklahoma as soon as he could arrange it.
That would be the best thing for everyone. For the Westons and for him.
***
As she’d planned days before, Savannah drove into town the next morning. Her errand list seemed endless. Hardware store, library, the grocery. Finally she was hurrying toward the post office. Her last stop. She realized that the urgency to get back to the ranch had more to do with seeing Laredo again than with any task that waited for her. Anyone would think you were a schoolgirl! But she couldn’t help the way her heart reacted to the man.
The dinner she planned for that night was Grady’s favorite—chicken-fried steak, cream gravy and fresh green beans. A peace offering. He’d barely had a word for her all morning, but then he wasn’t communicative at the best of times. Still, there was no mistaking his anger. She’d felt his gaze following her in the kitchen this morning as she’d moved about, preparing breakfast. They’d carefully avoided each other’s eyes. Savannah seldom defied her brother, but Grady had left her no option.
Because she’d stood her ground, Laredo was staying. For some reason that made her happier than anything had in years.
Savannah purposely saved the post office till last, hoping Caroline Daniels, the postmistress, would have time to chat. Dovie Boyd, who owned the antique store and the Victorian Tea Room, was just leaving when Savannah pulled into the parking lot. They exchanged cheerful waves.
The interior of the post office was blessedly cool, and Savannah glanced toward the front counter, relieved to see no other patrons. Deciding to pick up her mail first, she found her postbox key and inserted it into the lock. The metal door swung open to reveal Caroline’s nose and brown eyes.
“Is it true?” the postmistress demanded.