Tom's Angel (12 page)

“
She's going to live in Denver. I've come to escort her there.”

Rosalie could tell relating these facts made him uncomfortable, but, thankfully, he offered no further explanation.

“Denver is a magical place, Rosalie. I'm sure you'll love living there.” Marietta smiled back and forth between them, as though expecting an announcement.

“
Thank you, Mrs. Mallory. I'm sure I shall. Tom has told me how much cooler it is there. But it can't be any cooler than this house!”

Marietta laughed at that.
“Oh, yes, it can. Just wait and see.”

A huge man with graying handlebar moustaches came into the room from the back of the house.

“Phillip, at last. Come and greet our guests.”

“
Tom McCabe. You've grown up to be a fine man.” He pumped Tom's hand vigorously several times.

Tom made the introductions again, prompting a nod of Phillip's head to Rosalie and more expectant glances around the room.

“Your sister is coming, Tom. Did you know?”

“
I suspected as much. I'll be glad to see her again. Did you know we were visiting when the baby was born?”

They launched into a lively discussion of having chicken and dumplings for dinner
and Hannah arriving in time to take the place of dessert. Tom bragged about Rosalie's calm assurance while the men in the house ran around like headless chickens.

“
You're a midwife, then?” Marietta's expression displayed rapt curiosity.

Before Rosalie had to answer, Tom offered,
“A nurse, when the occasion calls for it.” Tom knew he had to head this conversation in a different direction, to prevent any further disclosures about Rosalie. “I could sure use something cold to drink.”

“
Lawsy, where are my manners? Of course, Tom. Let's go out to the kitchen, shall we?”

“
I have a little more work to tend to in the barn.”

“
Phillip, you promised.”

“
It won't take long, then Sam can handle it for the weekend.” He winked at Tom, then strode out the back door.

Marietta chipped some ice into three glasses and splashed what turned out to be real lemonade up to the rims.

Rosalie had never tasted anything as delicious in her life.

“
So much better than the crystals, don't you agree?” Marietta sipped, then set the glass on the table. “Tell me about Amos, Tom. Is he well?”

“
The same as always.”

“
There's only one Amos. I still miss Melanie.”

Rosalie perked at that.
“You knew Tom's mother?”

“
Yes. Such a pretty little thing. Amos adored her. Almost worshiped her. When she died, we expected him to follow within a week, his pain was so great. But he had four precious children to raise, one of them a baby daughter with the reddest hair anyone could ever remember seeing. I can't wait to see Katrina again, and the baby.”

“
They named her Hannah.”

“
A lovely name.” She cocked her head to listen. “Is that someone else arriving?” They headed toward the door.

A house maid had answered the knock.
Gabriel, Trina and little Hannah came inside. Trina handed the baby to Marietta and came straight to hug Rosalie.

“
And we thought it would be years before we'd see each other again! The pram is wonderful! You don't have to tell me who brought it or who it's for.”

“
It was Tom's idea. I helped pick it out.”

“
Just when you think you have brothers figured out, they do something sweet to confuse you all over again.”

“
This is like a dream, to me, Trina. I only hope I don't do something to embarrass Tom.”

“
You couldn't possibly. Haven't you noticed the way he looks at you?”

“
What do you mean?”

“
Never mind. If you haven't noticed already, you will soon. Tom has never, shall we say, shown any real interest in a woman until he met you. I have to find him and thank him for the pram. We must take Hannah for a stroll later.”

Rosalie looked away,
thrilled with what Trina had said. Tom was holding Hannah now. Their eyes caught and held across the room for an instant, and Rosalie wondered if what she felt for Tom showed in her eyes for everyone to see when she looked at him.

Rosalie reveled in the gracious ho
spitality of the Mallory home as guests arrived all during the afternoon. By the time they gathered around the long table in the dining room, which was set for sixteen places, Rosalie felt she'd stumbled into an incredible dream. With Tom sitting beside her on the left, and Trina on her right—an arrangement Trina had insisted on—Rosalie felt truly secure. For a short while, she forgot about Hell's Half Acre and the misery of daily life there. She also managed to forget about Zane Strickland and his terrible intentions toward her. But she couldn't forget that the dream would not last forever. Her life in the Acre awaited her, along with the Strickland home in Denver, an uncertain and possibly dangerous future. Telling all this, and Tom McCabe, good-bye might very well shatter her heart.

After a delicious dinner of roasted beef, potatoes in cream sauce, snapped beans from Marietta's garden, and peach pie for dessert, their hostess suggested a walk in the garden.
Rosalie agreed it would be lovely this time of evening.

Although still warm from the oppressing heat of the day, Rosalie found the air soothing rather than stifling, fragrant rather than repulsive, a caress rather than an assault.

“Where do you live in Fort Worth, Rosalie? We've known people there for years. Perhaps some of your neighbors are our friends.”

What could she say?
Lying went against everything Rosalie believed in. Would her answer reflect on Tom? She hedged a bit.

“
We live in the southern part of Fort Worth. I have few neighbors.”

Marietta's brow wrinkled.
“The southern part?”

Time for the truth.
Eyes averted, she explained.              “My father owns a business in the area known as the Acre. Our home is next door to that business.”

Marietta Mallory's expression surprised Rosalie.
Not a trace of disapproval showed in her deep brown eyes.

“
How long have you lived there?”

“
Most of my life, I'm afraid.”

“
Then I'm positive you're going to love Denver.”

“
I know I shall.” She tried to smile, unwilling to reveal her fears.

“
My dear, you'll pardon me when I say that you are one of the worst liars I've ever met.”

Eyes on the horizon, drinking in the beauty of the sunset, Rosalie nodded.
“I never learned how.”

“
So why don't you tell me what's troubling you?”

She shook her head.
“You've been so kind. I cannot possibly consider inflicting you with my problems. Tom has promised to help me work out every difficulty. Truthfully, I have every hope Denver will be the city of my dreams.”

Marietta hugged Rosalie briefly and smiled.
“Very well. It's obvious Tom cares a great deal for you. I'd like you to remember I'm here, if you need anything at all. Amos McCabe and his sons have been like family to us. Perhaps, in time, I hope you'll be part of that family, as well.”

Grateful for the lowering sun and the gathering shadows disguising her reaction to Marietta's words, Rosalie added, in
a whisper, “Let it be so.”

What must it be like, she wondered, to live in a world with people such as those she'd met since meeting Tom?
To sip real lemonade over ice, to eat delicious foods and host weekend parties?

Tom came outside, over to where they stood.
Rosalie's heart jumped a little at the sight of him, bathed in the dusty orange glow of the waning sun. His smile warmed her trembling heart.

“
Beautiful sunset.” He eased one arm around Rosalie's waist.

“
The clouds really give God a pallet for his paints.” Marietta hugged both of them briefly. “I must check on my other guests. Tom, will you see that Rosalie doesn't get lonely, please?”

“
My pleasure.”

Marietta went inside.
Tom suggested they tour the rest of the garden, so they walked toward the sunset, admiring the orange and gold cast on the house and grounds.

“
She's such a lovely person, Tom. I can't imagine anyone actually knowing such gracious people.”

“
In Denver, we know a passel of them. I'll make sure you meet every last one.”

She felt a tingle
when his fingers curled around hers, warm and slightly damp on her skin. Their hands fit together perfectly. Would their bodies, stripped of proper boundaries, also fit, as though sculpted by the same artist, meant to be together?

“
There's that look in your eyes again,” Tom said quietly.

“
What look is that?”

“
The one that says you're thinking something deeply personal.”

She grinned.
“What makes you say that?”

“
Because I've learned, when I see that certain shine in your eyes, you won't tell me what you're thinking, even though I suspect I'm part of it. Makes me wonder.”

“
No need to wonder any longer.” She swiveled until they stood face to face, inches away, her chin lifted, lips slightly apart.

Tom gathered her close, bent to meet her lips with his own, and proved to her, beyond a doubt,
that their bodies were meant to fit together.

<><><><>

In her own room that evening, Rosalie slid between cool sheets covered with a quilt she had no doubt Marietta had made. How odd to need a quilt in the midst of summer, but in this house, she did.

A delicate breeze
fluffed the curtains, then nudged her gently. Stars gleamed through the still night.

A dream.
How could she make it last forever?

Her body burned with desire for Tom
McCabe. What she'd felt for her first beaux didn't compare to these new feelings for Tom, deeper and more constant with each new day. Exquisite feelings. Yet, they brought her shame.

What did Sadie and Jocelyn and the others feel when they
“entertained” cowboys in the back rooms for a dollar? How did they feel afterward? Was intimacy with strangers so wonderful that they would live a life of sin and scorn to do it over and over again?

Rosalie shuddered at the thought
that she might be like them. Yearning for Tom's touch, for his kiss, his strong arms pulling her against him, she longed to know how would it be for their bodies to press tightly together, without clothing to separate and prevent them from exploring further.

Tears trickled down her cheek into the pillow.

Such desires must be sinful. Yet they continued to make themselves known, day and night, growing stronger by the hour, with every smile, every gesture, every kindness he showed her.

Kindness.
Was she reacting only to his kindness and gentility? Or could it be something else? How could she know for sure?

<><><><>

Tom turned over for the fourth time. The feather bed felt comfortable enough, dammit, but he didn't need that quilt. The room had seemed cool enough when he'd first come in to bed, but now the whole place stifled him. He climbed out of the deep feather mattress and raised the window to its highest point.

Stars dotted the sky, reminding him of the gleam of tears in Rosalie's eyes when she learned Strickland intended to marry her.
Tom had to stop it. But how? He couldn't let her marry Strickland. He couldn’t even allow her to live in the Strickland home! Yet the debt remained. Two thousand dollars. A fortune.

Tom lay back down on the wrinkled sheets, got up to straighten them, then lay down again.

Phillip might know a solution, but how could Tom approach him without sounding like
he was asking for money? There had to be another way to handle this. Another way.

Rosalie.

Before meeting Rosalie, Tom's life had been orderly and predictable. Coming to Fort Worth to escort her to Denver had been a bothersome interruption to a daily routine he'd come to appreciate and love. After meeting her, knowing what she faced in Denver, how could his routine at home ever be satisfying again? He'd worry about her every minute, desperate to be there to protect her from Strickland's drunken rages.

Talking to Richard Strickland was out of the question.
Meddling in their affairs. That's how he'd see it, and he'd be right.