Montana Rose Read online

  “Brrr. It’s cold out there.” Jesse’s voice preceded him into the room. He came over to her chair, a steaming mug of coffee in his hand.

  “I promised you’d wake up to the smell of coffee. And I always keep my word.”

  She took the mug and watched as he went over to the fireplace and added another log.

  “I’d rather have the snow than this blasted cold,” he said over his shoulder.

  “Me, too, especially today.” Rose took a sip of the delicious brew. “Mmmm. Perfect.”

  “Like your coffee, huh?”

  She sat back down in the chair, cradling the warmth of the mug in her hands.

  “Yes.”

  “You said ‘especially today.’ What’s so special about today?” he asked innocently as he sauntered over.

  “I can’t believe it. You’ve actually forgotten?” Then Rose saw the twinkle in his eye and noticed he was fighting back a grin.

  Jesse didn’t think it possible, but Rose was even more beautiful this morning. Her hair hung long and thick down her back, not yet restricted in preparation for the day’s work. His eyes moved over her and his breathing quickened as he caught a tender expression on her face. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear it was a look of— No, he was being fanciful. In a flash it was gone, imagined. Blame it on the early morning, heralding a special day.

  “Have you had your coffee yet?” she asked.

  “Yep, hours ago. Chores done for the day.”

  “Then I’ll dash upstairs and get dressed. We’ll have a big breakfast since we missed supper last night.”

  “Sounds great. I have to admit, those cookies ran out hours ago.”

  The warmth that filled him as he stood by her chair wasn’t because of the happily burning fireplace. But he couldn’t allow himself to ignore the cold fingers of reality accompanying that warmth. Unbidden, his father’s angry face, fists raised, loomed before him, and he knew what he was feeling for Rose had to be pushed down, denied and forgotten.

  “Jesse.” Her voice penetrated the memory. “Are you okay? You have such a strange look on your face. You’re not getting sick, too, are you?”

  “No, Rose. I’m not sick. Just a touch of reality.” And with those cryptic words, he turned away from the desirable woman.

  Jesse waited until he heard her leave the room then went over to sofa.

  “Wake-up, you big faker,” he growled in his brother’s ear, giving him a good shake.

  “Go away. I’m tired.”

  “Yeah, well so am I. And I’ve been up for hours doing all the chores while my poor recovering brother lay in his warm cozy blankets.”

  “Well, you’re the oldest,” Tory mumbled, his face pressed into the pillow. “I’m just the little brother who needs his sleep.” He dragged the blanket over his head.

  “You’re right. I’ll just go eat that big breakfast Miss Rose is preparing, then come back and sit in front of the fireplace admiring that big tree . . .”

  “Christmas.” The word and the boy exploded simultaneously. “It’s Christmas!” he shouted. Hopping from one foot to the other, he slid on his pants. “You should have gotten me up earlier.” Then in a loud whisper, he said, “You haven’t already given her the present, the surprise, have you?”

  “No, but if you don’t lower your voice it won’t be a surprise. We’ll have to do that right after breakfast. As full as that cow’s bag is, she’s going to need milking sooner than I thought. That is, unless you know how to milk?” He grinned wickedly.

  “Huh? Not on your life. Anyway, Rose’d be mad if we didn’t let her do the first milking.”

  “Yeah.” Jesse laughed. “And aren’t we lucky that’s the truth of it?”

  “Let’s forget breakfast and give it to her now,” he wheedled, slipping his shirt over his head and stumbling toward the door.

  Rose was entering the room and quickly stepped to the side. “Careful, Tory. Would it be safe to say you are over any sickness and know what morning this is?” She paused, then asked, “Give what to her now?”

  “Huh?” Tory’s mouth hung open as he grasped for answers.

  “Feet that big shouldn’t be put in one’s mouth,” Jesse muttered, giving Tory a push. “Let Rose go first and we’ll . . .” He took a deep breath, his mind racing for a way to cover the blunder, something, anything. “. . . strike a bargain with her,” he blurted.

  Rose raised her eyes to the tall man. “A bargain?”

  “Sure,” Jesse fumbled. “A bargain. How about, since it’s Christmas, Tory and I will do the dishes and clean up after that big breakfast you’re going to cook. How’s that for a—a bargain?”

  Rose’s eyebrows drew together as she looked from man to boy. “I guess. Sure, that’s fair.”

  “Well it don’t sound fair to me,” Tory said loudly, following Rose into the kitchen. “Come on, Jesse. I can’t wait. Let’s do it now.”

  “After breakfast.” Jesse ground the words through clenched teeth. “It can wait until after breakfast.”

  “No, it can’t.” Tory’s face was a contradiction of stubbornness and excitement.

  “Stop right now.” Rose held up a hand, silencing the two. “What is this all about? I refuse to have my Christmas morning ruined with bickering.”

  “Yeah, Jesse, you’re ruining her Christmas morning.” Tory gave him a superior smirk.

  Rose turned her face expectantly to Jesse, her blue eyes piercing.

  “Okay,” Jesse said resignedly. “My stomach’s rubbing my backbone, but what the heck. Rose, get a heavy coat on. You too, Tory.”

  “A coat?” Rose asked. “Whatever for?”

  “Rose,” Jesse said in a low beleaguered voice, “just do as I ask, okay? No more questions.”

  Tory ran to the porch and started grabbing coats off the pegs.

  He threw them at the two adults, struggling into his, then jerked open the door and stepped into the cold Montana dawn.

  Chapter 31

  Rose stopped so suddenly Jesse stumbled into her. She raised her face to the sky, her eyes closed in ecstasy.

  His large hand fell across the middle of her back, steadying her.

  “Whoa. I about knocked you over.”

  “Oh, Jesse, look.”

  He did, but not up at the sky. Rose’s face was damp and minute crystals winked on her eyelids. His breath caught, and he knew this day, this woman, would be forever etched in his memory.

  “Snow,” she breathed softly. “It’s snowing.” She flung her arms upward and, laughing, whirled around, catching the wet flakes on her tongue.

  “Snow for Christmas,” she said. “Nothing can top this. Absolutely nothing. I wished so hard for snow. Now I have everything I want to make today perfect.”

  “You think so, huh?” His heart filled to bursting as he pulled her to him. “Well, Tory and I have something to show you that just might change your mind.”

  “Nope. Couldn’t.” She gave a happy skip as he urged her toward the open barn door and an impatiently waiting Tory.

  “Jesse, make her close her eyes,” Tory shouted.

  “You heard the man, er, boy. Close your eyes.”

  “My eyes? Whatever for? If I close my eyes I might . . .”

  With trembling fingers, Jesse placed them on each of her eyelids and gently closed them. “There,” he whispered. “Now give me your hand. Keep them shut. Trust me.”

  Rose knew at that moment she loved Jesse Rivers and trusted him with her heart. If only he felt the same way.

  Tory grabbed Rose’s other hand, breaking the spell cast between the two.

  “No peeking, Miss Rose. Not until Jesse and I say you can look.”

  Rose chuckled. “I won’t. I promise.”

  Sounds
greeted her as she was led farther into the barn. Sounds and warmth. What was it? She closed her eyes even tighter and willed herself to recognize what her ears were telling her.

  “Chickens,” she squealed. “There’s chickens and . . . and a rooster. Can I look?” she begged. “I’m opening my eyes.”

  “Not yet.” Tory slapped his palm across her eyes. “Darn chickens,” he grumbled.

  “Tory, it’s okay.” Jesse laughed. “Let her look.”

  Reluctantly, he removed his hand.

  Rose’s eyes snapped open, and she turned toward the cages of chickens angrily letting them know that being penned up wasn’t their idea of a good morning.

  “You bought chickens. Thank you, thank you. I love this surprise. Tory, you were right. It couldn’t wait. We have to build them a hen house.” Just then the rooster gave out another loud crow. “Oops,” she chuckled. “I should say chicken house. Until then, they’ll have to stay in the barn. Can we fence off an area so they can get out of those little pens?” Rose was firing off questions and talking so fast, she missed the nod Jesse gave Tory over her head.

  “Miss Rose . . .”

  “Rose, Tory. Please call me Rose when there’s just the three of us. But, you will need to call me Miss Rose when we’re around others,” she admonished distractedly.

  The three of us. The words tore at Jesse.

  “There’s more Miss, uh, Rose.” Tory gave her hand a tug leading her over to an enclosed paddock.

  “More?” She laughed. “What more could there be? There must be at least twenty chickens here.”

  “Twenty-five,” Jesse mumbled, his voice hoarse with emotion. “Twenty-five, but Tory’s right. There is more.” He opened the paddock door.

  The milk cow turned her head at the sound, and gave them an inquisitive look as if to say, “Who are you?” Her big brown eyes, full of expression, peeked out from under long black lashes. Then she blew through her nose, and went back to the more important task of munching her hay, not at all perturbed at sharing her stall. Her tail swished back and forth, swatting at imaginary flies as she shifted from one foot to another, her full bag swinging between bony hips.

  “No.” The word exploded from Rose with a gush of air. “No, it can’t be.”

  “Well, it sure is,” Jesse said with a grin.

  “A milk cow,” Rose whispered, reaching out to run her hand across the cow’s smooth hide. Then she turned to the waiting man and boy, tears streaming down her face. “You bought me a milk cow. You-You bought me a Christmas present.”

  Jesse folded her into his arms. “Hey, we didn’t mean to make your cry. Don’t you like her? ‘Cause if you don’t we can probably take her back . . .”

  “Don’t you dare, Jesse Rivers. I-I love her.” She brushed her hand across her face. “These are tears of joy, silly. Come here, Tory, I need to hug you.”

  Red-faced, Tory moved closer.

  Rose threw her arms around the boy then stretched them even more to include the watching man.

  “Thank you so much. Oh, darn, I’m going to cry some more.”

  “You’re welcome, Rose,” Jesse said huskily. “She’s yours, and that fellow waiting for his bucket of milk is yours, too.”

  “A calf?”

  “In the next stall.”

  Rose’s hand flew to her mouth. “This is the best present I’ve ever had. The best Christmas ever. How on earth did you two sneak this all in without me knowing?” Then a glint entered her eyes and she put her hands on her hips in mock displeasure.

  “You tricked me. You weren’t sick at all, were you, Tory? All that groaning and clutching your stomach, it was just an act.”

  Tory grinned, unashamed at being found out. “We had to think of some way to keep you from looking out when Mr. Watson delivered them last night.”

  “I ought to beat both of you. I was worried to death. I almost sent for Ben, thinking you were seriously ill.”

  “Sorry,” Tory chortled.

  “Yeah,” Jesse echoed.

  “No, you’re not. You two aren’t sorry at all. And”—Rose’s smile grew even wider—“neither am I. Cream, milk, and eggs. We’ll never have to depend on the Watsons again.”

  “Like I said, Rose, they’re yours. The start of your herd for your ranch. When you leave, they go with you.”

  When you leave.

  The words hung between them, casting a pall on the celebrating.

  Unaware of the charged emotions, Tory piped up, “Well, I’m ready for that big breakfast. I’m starving.”

  “Not so fast, mister. We’re looking at a cow that needs milking and chickens that need out of those small pens.” Rose cast her eyes around the area. “No milk bucket, no stool, no stanchion.” A look of dismay crossed her face.

  Jesse stepped out of the paddock, returning with a shiny new milk bucket in one hand and a three-legged stool in the other.

  “We bought the bucket in town, and Tory coaxed the stool away from Mr. Watson’s daughter.”

  “Yeah, and you can’t imagine the ribbing I got.” Tory gave them a wounded look.

  “You two have thought of everything,” Rose said softly, her eyes pooling once more with tears. She took the stool and bucket from Jesse’s hands.

  “Watson said she was an easy milker. He claims she stands there while you do the job,” Jesse said.

  Rose shook her head as she placed the bucket under the cow and gingerly sat on the stool.

  “Jesse.” Her quiet voice floated softly over her shoulder as the sound of milk pinging against the side of the bucket filled the air. “You are like no man I’ve ever known. Arrogant, sarcastic, bossy, and”—her voice faltered—“thoughtful and wonderful. So very wonderful.”

  Chapter 32

  “Oatmeal and burned toast? On Christmas morning? Where’s that big breakfast I was promised?” The look on Tory’s face was one of total disgust.

  Jesse glared at him. “Out in the barn fussing over the Christmas present you just couldn’t wait until we ate to give her.”

  “Well, I didn’t think she’d be so batty over a bunch of dumb chickens and a cow. And”—Tory frowned, pushing the full bowl aside—“I didn’t think I’d ever have to eat another of your attempts at cooking.” He ruefully eyed the burnt toast.

  “Yeah, and I didn’t think I’d have to listen to your complaining either.”

  Rose stood at the kitchen door, hand on the knob, listening to the angry words batted back and forth. When she’d heard enough, she stepped inside and set the full pail of milk on the counter then turned to the two people she’d come to love. Smiling to herself, she took in the scowls on both of their faces.

  “Stop your scowling,” she ordered with mock severity, looking from one to the other. “It’s Christmas.”

  “Well, I’m still hungry,” Tory whined.

  “Eat your oatmeal then,” Jesse barked.

  “Yuck.” Tory gave the bowl another shove.

  “Tory, please quit complaining long enough to go to the cellar and bring me two gallon jars. This milk has to be strained before we drink it.”

  When he returned, Rose rinsed the jugs and, taking a thin white dishtowel, spread it over the mouth of one of the jars.

  “Need help?” Jesse came over to her side.

  “Yes. If you’ll keep the cloth pulled tight, I’ll slowly pour the milk over it and into the jar. That way, we’ll catch any impurities. Once we’ve done that, it’ll go to the spring house to cool, and by tomorrow there will be thick, rich cream to skim off the top. Just think, we’ll have our own butter and cream for baking.” She clapped her hands in glee. “Jesse, we’ll have cream for anything we want to use it for or put it on.”

  Jesse smiled. Rose’s joy was contagious. It was easy to get caught up in her
delight over what appeared to him more work for an already busy woman.

  “And,” she said, her eyes sparkling, “when we’re finished here, we’ll go into the living room. I’m sure I saw presents under that tree. Tory, you won’t starve before we leave for Christmas dinner at Ben and Wisteria’s. I can assure you there will be so much to eat, you’ll swear you’ll never be able to eat again.”

  “Hey. Yeah. Presents. I forgot. Come on, you two.” He charged into the living room.

  Rose and Jesse looked at each other and laughed.

  “Tory,” Jesse called, “put another log on the fire. We’ll be finished here in a minute.”

  Rose turned to Jesse. “You did get him something, didn’t you?”

  “No, why would I?”

  “You didn’t?” Rose’s blue eyes widened. “Jesse, how could you?”

  “Guess I forgot I was supposed to.” And the grin he’d been fighting spread across his face.

  Rose doubled up her fist and slugged him in the arm.

  “Now why’d you do that? You could hurt a person.” Laughter danced in his eyes.

  Rose rubbed her knuckles. The muscles in Jesse’s arm were rock hard. “Yes, and the person would be me,” she said. “That’s for lying and scaring me.”

  “You know, since you’ve become a rancher, you’ve gotten mighty bossy. Having your own herd has gone to your head.” Jesse liked nothing more than to provoke her quick flashes of temper.