Rose by Leigh Greenwood Read Free Book Online

the center of his life, who would always keep her safe.
    The kind of man she thought George was.
    She hadn’t realized it until just now, but she had come perilously close to falling in love with him.
    What woman wouldn’t?
    He had rescued her when danger threatened. He had been concerned for her welfare. He had been considerate of her feelings. He had thrown a cordon of protection around her that no one could breach. She had felt cherished. Well, perhaps that was an overstatement, but she had felt valued, important.
    Now all traces of that man had disappeared. She didn’t know whether George had been acting the part of the Southern gentleman or whether he had a reason for pretending to be much colder than he really was. Everyone in this family seemed a little peculiar. And from what she’d heard from the two she’d met, nobody seemed to get along with anyone else.
    Maybe George had been acting a part.
    No, her original impression had to be true. Something had caused him to close her out. If she could just discover what it was, maybe she could bring back the man who had made such an indelible impression on her heart.
    In the meantime, however, she had dishes to wash, a kitchen to clean, and dinner to fix. And she’d have to hurry if she intended to be ready at seven o’clock. She had every confidence George and his legion of brothers would be knocking at the door at six fifty-nine.
    Rose couldn’t remember when she had been so tired. Yet a smile played across her lips as she moved about the kitchen. She had managed to wash the dishes, scrub every pot and pan, scour the stove, and put the larder in some kind of order.
    She had also managed to cook dinner for seven people.
    A beef roast simmered on the stove, its aroma mingled with those of carrots and potatoes in a thick, rich gravy. Two pans of biscuits, one browning in the oven and one waiting to go in, could either be dipped in gravy or slathered with creamy butter.She had cooked some peas from Tyler’s garden. She had picked them herself because he never showed up. She completed the meal with canned peaches and tomatoes from the larder. Milk—sweet, sour, and buttermilk—stood ready for the men to make their choice. And water in case Zac really didn’t like milk.
    Rose gave the table a final check. She had cleaned it as well as she could, but signs of oil spills and burns remained. She had meant to cover it with a tablecloth, but she couldn’t find one anywhere. The Rochester lamp, suspended over the table, its globe sparkling clean, cast its amber light about the room.
    Things would look better when she had time to clean the windows, wash and iron the curtains, and scrub down the walls and floor, but she felt pleased about what she had been able to do in one day. It added up to a great deal more than she’d thought possible when she’d stepped into this kitchen about six hours earlier.
    The sound of horses’ hooves caught her ear. She glanced at the clock, one of the few things in working order. Someone had polished the glass, cleaned the outside surfaces, and oiled the working parts. She hoped it really was three minutes to seven. She quickly cleaned a spot on the window to look out. Four men had ridden up, accompanied by two dogs. Apparently George believed in being punctual. Zac came running up alongside. Obviously he had gone just far enough from the house to escape doing any chores. She didn’t see anyone who could be a thirteen-year-old boy. She hoped Tyler wouldn’t carry his dislike of women to the point of staying away from dinner.
    She hurried to make her final preparations. She would set the roast before George’s place just before they entered the kitchen. After the blessing, and while they passed the vegetables, she would serve the biscuits and put in the second pan. Zac could pour the milk. He seemed to know what everyone liked.
    She tried to calculate how much time she would have beforethey were ready to eat. They would have to unsaddle