Page 64 of A Late-Blooming Rose
Originally, they’d just planned on hauling crates home, but Beau’s injury and their enforced stay meant they enjoyed the luxury of sorting through everything first.
Yesterday, with Trudy’s permission, they’d poked through the various trunks, boxes, and crates to find which ones held books. Then Sam moved all those to the open floor space near the door.
Today, Andre numbered the crates with a thick, flat carpenter’s pencil and called out the volumes he found within. Sometimes, he switched books from one crate to another.
Rose sat on a stool, her desk on her lap, and wrote down the titles of the books assigned to each crate. Occasionally, she or Andre stopped to open a volume, page through, and read a few bits here and there. Other times, they talked about certain books, sharing memories, or agreeing or disagreeing over content.
Picking up a brown volume with a horse on the cover titledThe Care and Feeding of Horsesmade Rose curious. She set down her pen and opened the book to the glossary. FindingBruised Sole Treatment, she turned toward those pages and began to read, growing dismayed by the information. “Several days to several weeks!” she said aloud. “Oh, dear.”
In the midst of taking a book off the shelf, Andre stopped. “What?”
“This reference on horses says a bruised sole requires several daysat leastto heal.” She tapped a finger on the page. “Beau won’t be ready to leave tomorrow. We’ll need to give him more time. Oh, I hate to impose on the Flanigans for a week or more.”
A guilty expression crossed Andre’s face.
Rose knew that look all too well. Impatience flared, and she gave him an accusing glare. “Andre Bellaire, what have youdone?”
“Well….”
She straightened on the stool. “Andre!”
He winced. “Beau might not be hurt.”
“Might not?”
“Isn’t.”
Thinking over yesterday, Rose pressed her eyes closed and pinched the bridge of her nose above her glasses. “What about the Flanigans?”
“I wrote them a letter.”
She gasped. “A letter! And…?”
“Sam brought it out and came home with a reply. I couldn’t just descend on them, especially with all that happened when the posse stayed here.”
Disappointment stabbed. She’d really liked the family. “So their hospitality was all a show?”
His mouth went flat, his gaze solemn. “You know in your heart the truth of that question, Rose.”
She thought for a moment. “Their warmth and welcome were real.” Another thought occurred to her. “Was the about-to-go-insane-over-wedding-details a lie, too?”
“That was true. Rose—” he gestured around the attic “—this wasn’t the nature of aliebut was meant to be asurprise. Sam and the lame horse were like a stage production. You can’t tell me you regret missing the wedding.”
“That’s not the point.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“But why, Andre?”
He sighed. “I’m a devious man, Rose. My daughter calls me the puppet master of Sweetwater Springs. I care about you. I could see the toll this, this…everythinghas taken on you, and I wanted to save you from that.”
“I’m fine,” she said stiffly, not wanting him to pander to her from a sense of guilt.
He merely raised an eyebrow and paused for emphasis before speaking. “Marty’s illness; resigning from your job; Marty’s death; moving to a primitive small town and leaving behind everything familiar; Cora abandoning you to follow her dream of nursing; all the socializing….”
“You may be right.” Begrudging the admission, she couldn’t keep her tone pleasant.
He picked up a pile of books from another stool, set them on the floor, and sank down across from her, his expression beseeching. “And…selfishly,Iwanted to escape, too. Under normal circumstances, I’d enjoy the wedding, seeing friends and acquaintances and making new ones. But right now, I don’t feel I’m living in normal circumstances. A little over two weeks ago, we lived with dread, wondering if our posse survived and the outlaws were captured. Less than three weeks ago, Deputy Rhoda was killed. In spite of my initial relief of having the posse home safely and the money returned, I haven’t yet shaken off carrying around that burden. The fear. The guilt. The heaviness in my heart.”
