Texas Rose Read online

  Sister Mary Katherine squeezed her hand. “Don’t thank me, thank your young man, my dear. He’s the one who caught you.”

  Yes, Rose thought, looking at Matt. He certainly did.

  Eight

  The inordinately good-looking young man standing in front of Beth Wainwright was pouring out his heart in a Marlon Brandoesque voice that sublimated his own, richer tones.

  Tucker Stephens was one of eighteen young, would-be thespians who comprised her intermediate acting class and gathered around her twice a week for three hours to absorb her direction and expertise. Tonight they were gathered in her living room and the hour was getting late.

  In spite of the fact that Tucker’s performance was rather good, aside from the somewhat grating accent he had affected, Beth was having trouble concentrating. Her mind was elsewhere.

  A week had passed.

  A week in which, she knew, Matt continued to play the part of the patient, curious tourist and Rose continued to play his polite but distant guide. Beth knew this was the way things were going because Matt had filled her in. Beth also knew that Rose’s young man was beginning to think about giving up again. He wasn’t the caveman type, he wasn’t about to grab Rose by the hair and drag her to his lair, to keep her there until she came to her senses.

  That alone recommended Matt to her, Beth thought. There just had to be some way to cut to the chase, to get Rose to see past her stiff, noble sentiments and cleave to the man who would make her life that much more worthwhile if she just allowed him.

  In her heart, Beth knew that Matt was the one for Rose and she was positive that Rose knew it, too.

  If only that damned stubborn Wainwright streak wasn’t there…

  Rose needed, Beth suddenly decided as Tucker called out to an imaginary wife his character had wronged, a catalyst. Something to set things in motion and to send Rose into Matt’s arms.

  Or someone…

  A thought came to her, taking root swiftly.

  Beth began to smile.

  Tucker ended his scene to a smattering of applause from the rest of the students.

  They were a hard lot to share praise, she thought. Already competitors.

  “Very good, Tucker,” Beth said, rising from her winged chair from where she held court over the class.

  “Well, that’s all for tonight’s class.” They began to gather their things together. “I want you all to rehearse those scenes we selected earlier this evening and be ready to go on the next time we meet.” Like a queen sending her soldiers to the wars, Beth waved them off to the front door. All except for Bryce Keaton.

  Bryce had been her prize student more than a year ago. She had even recommended him to an old friend of hers who’d been producing an off-Broadway play at the time. Graduated now, Bryce still sat in on her classes, saying he never stopped learning from her.

  They had an affinity for each other that both enjoyed. “Oh, Bryce.” She turned toward him as the last of the students filed out. “Would you mind staying a moment longer? I’d like to discuss something with you.”

  Beth saw one of the students nudge another as they left and didn’t have to guess what they were probably thinking. She smiled to herself. She had always liked being the center of attention, the mystery woman people were always guessing about. Bryce had taken a break between graduating high school and going on to college. He’d allowed himself a few years to bum around Europe and earn his own way around the world before enrolling in college. Hence, he was older than the others and seemed years older than that.

  She, on the other hand, never thought of herself as any older than twenty-nine.

  Bryce smiled at her as she closed the door. “So, what’s on your mind?” he asked. “I could see those wheels up there suddenly turning when Tucker was on. Want me to give him some help nailing down his motivation?”

  She waved her hand at that. “Very kind of you, dear. But, no.” She smiled at him. “He’s no Bryce, but then, neither were you when you first came to my class.”

  As she spoke, she slowly circled Bryce, looking at him from all angles as if she’d never seen him before. He’d come to class dressed completely in black, which had given her the idea in the first place. The more she thought about it, the more she liked it.

  He certainly had the body for it, she silently approved. Still, she had to ask. “I think I remember you saying you were into track and field when you were in college.”

  “Yes, I was.”

  She stopped in front of him. He was a good deal taller than she was. “How fast can you run?”

  “Why? Are you planning to chase me?”

  He almost sounded as if he drawled when he said that. The way that Matt did. It made her feel a little homesick. She smiled. “Maybe later. What’s your best time?”

  He rattled off the last numbers he remembered achieving. “I can run the hundred-meter dash in ten seconds.”

  Beth smiled as she clapped her hands together with relish. “Excellent.” He would do very nicely indeed. The glint in her eye intensified. “How do you feel about helping Cupid along, Bryce?”

  He crossed his arms at his chest and eyed her. “Just what is Cupid supposed to be doing?”

  Beth dropped back into her winged chair, still looking up at him. Pleased with her plan. “Mugging someone.”

  Bryce shook his head. His grin was just slightly confused. “Come again?”

  “I think, my dear, that a little live improvisational theater might be just what you need to keep you fresh and on your toes.”

  “And where is this live performance supposed to take place? Off-Broadway?”

  Oh, it was off Broadway, all right, Beth thought. Way off. “The Metropolitan Museum of Art. More specifically, the alley beside it.”

  “All right, you’ve got me really curious now.” He perched on the edge of the arm of her winged chair. “Fill in the blanks for me.”

  He was in on it, she could tell. It was what she liked best about him. His willing spirit. “With pleasure, my dear.”

  Matt didn’t mind art. He had to admit that during the endless hours they’d spent crisscrossing the different rooms within the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Rose had shown him several pieces that he hadn’t minded looking at. They were even nice—especially the one with water by Monet, or Manet, or something like that. The names were swimming in his head.

  But if he were being totally honest with Rose as well as himself, what he liked best about the museum was its air-conditioning system.

  What’s more, he had a sneaking suspicion that at least half of the souls wandering around the museum today agreed with him.

  Impatience drummed through him as he followed Rose to yet another painting; this one a mass of colors he could have sworn a three-year-old had created by getting into a paint box and flinging the contents onto a canvas.

  Matt had moved slowly, just as Beth had counseled him to do. Trouble was, it was so slow that he was beginning to feel as if he were actually moving backward.

  In addition, he still couldn’t get the little nun’s question out of his mind. It had planted a seed that he couldn’t seem to weed out.

  Is she pregnant?

  He knew that it was ridiculous to even remotely entertain the idea, and yet he just couldn’t seem to get past the question. It nagged him, cropping up at odd times in the day and night. Asking Rose would be nothing short of insulting, and he knew it. The logical conclusion to be drawn was that she’d fainted because of the heat.

  Still, that little notion kept buzzing around his head.

  What if she was pregnant?

  What if that was the real reason Rose had left—because she couldn’t face him?

  That was absurd, too, he chided, because why shouldn’t she face him? After all, if she was pregnant, it was his baby, too…

  Unless it wasn’t.

  Abruptly, Matt shut his mind down, refusing to go any further with the thought. He was getting far too carried away with something that probably didn’
t have a germ of truth in it. Rose deserved better than that from him, he thought, annoyed with himself. And he should have better control over his own thoughts than to let his mind wander like that.

  “So, what do you think?” she was asking. She’d stepped back from the painting she was admiring. And then she took a better look at Matt. Rose smiled. He’d been indulging her. “You’re bored, aren’t you?”

  Matt tried not to blink like a man waking up from a self-induced trance.

  “No,” he lied.

  He didn’t lie worth a damn. Which was good in her book. “Then why are you trying to stifle a yawn?”

  He shrugged carelessly, looking away at another painting. This one had slashes of red and yellow. “I didn’t sleep much last night.”

  That much was true. He’d kept waking up all through the night. Thinking of her. Wanting so badly to cut the distance between their two rooms and to get into her bed. He’d actually gotten up several times, only to herd himself back into his bed.

  If he kept it up, Beth was going to have a path worn in her rug, he mused.

  “Maybe we’ve had enough culture for one day.” Rose glanced at her watch. She knew that the museum would be closing within the half hour. “It’s getting a little late, anyway. What do you say we go back to Aunt Beth’s and then maybe the three of us can go out to dinner?”

  He’d much rather it was the two of them, but he kept that to himself.

  Agreeable, be agreeable, he kept repeating silently. He was going to wear her down with his agreeableness or die in the attempt.

  “Sure.”

  They’d worked their way down to the first floor again. Having spent the better part of the day here, Matt had gotten the lay of the museum pretty well memorized. He led the way to the front entrance.

  He was a man who didn’t ask directions, but he never seemed to need any. He’d always had an uncanny sense of direction, Rose mused.

  There was so much about Matt that made him stand out from all the others. Sometimes, despite her resolution to keep her distance, she wanted to forget and just be with him. In the total sense of the word. She knew she’d be negating all the groundwork she’d made up, but it was getting harder and harder for her to be noble about this. Especially when she wanted nothing more than to have him hold her.

  To have him make love with her.

  The sad thing was that it looked as if he’d finally come to believe her that she didn’t want any of that. They’d spent every day going somewhere new and he’d been a complete and utter gentleman. He’d faithfully observed rules one and two ever since she’d fainted in front of St. Patrick’s Cathedral.

  That had been a week ago and he hadn’t tried anything. Not a single, solitary thing.

  Maybe he really was here just to play tourist. Maybe he had lost interest in her.

  The thought pinched her heart and her stomach. It was all for the best, she knew that, but it certainly didn’t feel that way.

  It felt as if someone had gutted her.

  It felt, she thought, exactly the way it had when she’d screwed up her courage and lied to him, saying that she’d lost interest in their being together and that it was all for the best if they just didn’t see each other anymore.

  Maybe this was payback.

  Maybe this was some elaborate charade Matt was orchestrating to let her see how it felt to be emotionally abandoned.

  Maybe, Rose advised herself as they walked outside, she had better stop letting her imagination run away with her and just cease thinking altogether.

  It felt as if she’d stepped into an oven. A hot, moist oven.

  “Didn’t get any cooler while we were inside, did it?” she murmured as the door sighed closed behind them.

  He looked at her, concerned. “You’re not planning to faint again, are you?”

  “That was entirely unplanned,” she assured him. “And I’d just as soon you didn’t bring that up again.”

  They began to walk down the street. Several cabs went by, but they were either occupied or off duty.

  “Why?”

  She wondered if he was walking slower because he was tired, or because he didn’t think she could keep up. Her sense of competition made her want to pick up the pace, but this baby kept sapping her strength.

  “Because I’d rather not think of myself as one of those weak-wristed women who pass out.”

  He slanted a look at her and smiled. “Nothing weak about you. You’ve got a will of iron. I heard your aunt talking about someone she once knew who was nicknamed the Iron Butterfly. I kind of figure that name suits you pretty well.”

  It took her a second to sort through her aunt’s stories in her head and make the connection. “That was Loretta Young’s nickname.”

  The name meant nothing to him. “Who?”

  She’d said the same thing the first time Aunt Beth had told her. Then spent the next two hours watching a video of The Farmer’s Daughter. “A big-time actress my aunt met when she was first starting out. That was when Aunt Beth went to Hollywood. She got a part in Miss Young’s TV show.”

  Matt could only shake his head. “Your aunt’s certainly been around.”

  “That she has.” Rose fought the temptation to slip her arm through his, even though it would have felt natural to do so. “I’m glad you like her.”

  “I like her niece better.” Damn. It had just slipped out. He admonished himself, hoping it hadn’t sent him back to square one. Beth had all but promised him that if he held back, Rose would come around. He could only hope the older woman knew what she was talking about. “Oh, sorry, I know I’m not supposed to say that.”

  She smiled. The compliment warmed her like the good wine she missed having on special occasions. “That’s all right, I—”

  Rose didn’t get a chance to finish what she was saying. Still keeping an eye out for a cab, they’d crossed the street and were passing an alley. Someone grabbed her from behind and yanked her into the shadows.

  “Just give me your money and the little lady doesn’t get hurt,” the attacker threatened.

  Rose’s eyes grew large as she became utterly still. The scent of a man’s cologne registered at the same time that fear made its appearance. She saw the look in Matt’s eyes. There was instant pent-up fury there, as volatile as the tornadoes that periodically tore through the Texas Panhandle.

  He was going to do something heroically stupid, she just knew it. If he got hurt defending her, she wouldn’t be able to live with it.

  “Here.” Still unable to see her assailant, only smell him, Rose twisted her arm, thrusting her purse toward him. “Take it. Just go and leave us alone.”

  A long arm clad in a black sweater reached out around her and snatched the purse from her hand. He pushed her away from him, but far more gently than she would have anticipated.

  Rose turned around, but she couldn’t make out the mugger’s features. He was wearing a black ski mask.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Matt make a move toward the mugger. She didn’t want him hurt. “No, Matt,” she cried. “Please, it’s just money.”

  “It’s your money,” Matt growled as he lunged after the man.

  The latter instantly pivoted on his heel, dropped the purse and took off.

  Matt gave chase, but the man was faster than he was, dashing like an Olympic runner. Very quickly, he left an angry Matt far behind him. Matt knew it was useless to continue.

  Embarrassed that he’d failed to catch the mugger, Matt cursed roundly under his breath as he hurried back to Rose. He found her not far from where he’d left her, purse in hand. She was shaking and there were tears in her eyes.

  Damn it, had that scum hurt her? With all his heart, he wished he’d caught him. He’d have made him pay.

  “Are you all right?” He ran his hands over her arms just to reassure himself that there was nothing bruised or broken.

  “Yes, I’m okay.” And then she all but collapsed, but not out of fear for herself. Out of fear for hi
m. “Oh, God, Matt, when I saw you take off after him—”

  She couldn’t finish.

  Instead, she threw her arms around him and kissed him with every ounce of what she was feeling and what she had been feeling this past week.

  Maybe virtue was its own reward, but this was certainly a hell of a lot nicer, Matt thought, his arms tightening around her. A hell of a lot.

  The kiss deepened, taking Matt to places he had already been, places he had so desperately wanted to revisit.

  Abruptly, stunned, trying to get her bearings, Rose stepped back. The next moment, she pulled back her fist and hit him in the chest as hard as she could.

  Matt’s hand went over his chest, far more out of bewilderment than from any sort of pain. “What was that for?”

  She could feel fresh tears in her eyes. He was alive. But he might not have been. And he would have died thinking she didn’t love him.

  “He could have killed you,” she cried.

  “I didn’t think he had a gun and he was pretty puny when you took a good look at him.”

  “But he could have had a gun,” she emphasized. “Damn it, Matt, it was only my purse. And he dropped it. There was no reason to risk your life over it.”

  Didn’t she get it? His hands on her shoulders, he looked into her eyes. “I wasn’t risking my life over the purse, I was going after him because he’d put his hands on you. Because he could have hurt you and I couldn’t stand that.” He gently slid his knuckles along her cheek. “Nobody’s got a right to manhandle you like that.”

  She melted, completely and utterly melted. Threading her arms around his neck again, Rose sealed her lips to those of the only man she had ever loved.

  “Hey, get a room, you two,” someone snickered as they hurried by.

  It sounded like a plan to her.

  Nine

  Matt pulled his head back, away from Rose, though it wasn’t easy. He would have been willing to remain there, kissing her until the twelfth of never, or until the cows came home, whichever happened last. But he knew that the longer he kissed her, the more he would want, and he’d promised himself he wasn’t going to push.