that.”
Duke’s pride nose-dived at her quick denial. Then it rebounded. Had she responded too quickly, as if afraid, or surprised, at the truth in Billy’s words? He grinned at the idea but said nothing.
Instead he talked about how glad he was to be back in Montana. “I didn’t much care for city life.”
She nodded, though he wondered if she was even listening to him.
He tucked a secret smile inside. Perhaps even now she was wondering if there could be a hint of attraction between them.
A few minutes later, Rose glanced across the table. “Are you finished?” At his nod, she started to gather up the dishes.
He waved her away. “I said Billy and I would clean up.”
She nodded and sank back, her gaze on the dressing on his forehead. “You really should be resting.”
“I’ll be fine.” He didn’t get to his feet, knowing dizziness would assault him.
With an uncertain nod, she pushed away from the table and rose. “Then I’ll be on my way.” But she stood there watching him.
He lifted his gaze to hers and had to blink at the concern darkening her eyes. “Rose, I’m fine. Thank you for everything. Rescuing me. Taking care of me...” His throat tightened at all she’d done. Perhaps it was only out of duty and concern for mankind, but her touch, her concern, her smile all wound through his heart with the feel of a personal gift. “And for the delicious meal.” When he said the last words, a thought struck him and he laughed.
She blinked. “The meal was funny?”
He sobered but amusement made his words round and pleasant on his tongue. “Normally a guy takes a gal out for a special dinner. At least that’s been my experience. But this has been the nicest dinner I’ve ever shared with a gal.”
“And you expect me to believe that after you’ve spent a year in Philadelphia?”
“It’s true. Guess it’s the company that makes the difference.”
“More likely it’s the bang on your head that has scrambled your thoughts.”
He had never been more certain of anything despite the throbbing of his wound.
She slipped into her coat and stuffed her hair under a big hat.
Why did she cover her hair? He wanted to yank the hat from her head.
She turned. Something in his look made her hands grow still.
The air between them filled with a wealth of things that needed to be said.
“Rose—” But words were not adequate.
She turned her back and reached for the door handle. “I must go. Goodbye.” She fled the room. Billy had left her horse tied to the rail. Within seconds the thud of hooves rattled through his head.
He rubbed his chin. Why did she remain so prickly when he’d succeeded in getting Father to end the feud?
Did she find him unlikeable?
He considered how often she’d blushed while talking to him, how her eyes had locked on his and then skittered away.
He would not believe she found him unappealing.
Rose sat in front of the mirror. She undid the braid that held her hair and let her locks fall across her shoulders. Waves of red dulled in the low lamplight. She began to brush her hair.
Billy admired the red color.
Duke said he did, too. She tended to believe him because of the way his eyes had flickered with admiration. But his words didn’t unknot the tension she felt every time her hair was mentioned. She hated her hair. People constantly made comments about it.
She brushed mindlessly, letting scenes from the day flit through her mind.
Billy’s loyalty to Duke.
The way Duke had clung to her as she’d tended his wound. She smiled at her reflection. Had she ever imagined she’d be needed or wanted by a Caldwell?
Her hands grew idle as she continued to stare at herself.
Okay, she’d at least tell herself the truth. There was something about Duke that intrigued her. Perhaps it was only a need to find out how sincere he was.
Or perhaps it went deeper than that. There was something in his probing gaze that touched a spot deep within her, like the gentle strumming of a guitar string. It sang soft and quiet in her heart. What would it be like to hear it wild and exuberant? Her pulse beat faster as if fueled by the beat of a drum.
She set her brush aside and braided her hair for the night. She was Rose, the practical sister who meant to stay home and care for her parents. Where did thoughts of wild and exuberant belong?
In someone else’s life, to be sure.
In bed, she picked up her Bible to read a chapter as she’d done since Ma and Pa had given the girls each a Bible of their own when they were twelve years old. On the flyleaf of each Bible, Ma had written a verse and blessing for each of the girls.
Rose looked at the well-worn page. The verse Ma had chosen for her was Psalm 139:14: “I will praise Thee: for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.”
She sighed at the words Ma had written.
Rose, my beautiful flower, I pray for you to continually walk in the joy of who God has made you to be.
Some days she rejoiced in who she was. She loved her family and her life on the farm. The work brought her deep satisfaction.
But she had to confess that she didn’t always experience that contentment. Sometimes she questioned why God had given her red hair, why He had allowed her to be born into a family that abandoned her. Still, she never ended that thought without a prayer of gratitude for Ma and Pa adopting them.
She read a chapter and turned out the light to say her prayers. God, keep my feet on a straight path. Guide me to make wise choices.
Duke simply did not belong in that prayer.
Her thoughts settled. Duke was a neighbor who’d needed help. Whether good neighbor or bad, it made no difference. She was foolish to think there could be more. She would not be so unwise as to let her emotions get involved.
* * *
“Morning, Ma. Morning, Pa,” she called as she hurried from the bedroom the next day. She tramped to the barn, shivering in the cold to feed the animals. She pulled the collar of her coat closer against the winter wind.
She sang as she did the chores, then returned
