One Pink Rose; One White Rose; One Red Rose Read Online Free PDF Page A

speak to him again until they stopped in midafternoon to rest their horses. At least that was the excuse he’d given her. She seemed to believe the lie too. He really called a halt so that she could rest her backside. She wasn’t much of a horsewoman, and the way her bottom kept slamming against her saddle, added to the pained look on her face, told him she was taking quite a beating.
    The poor woman could barely stand up straight when she finally managed to get down to the ground. She wouldn’t let him help her and didn’t think his exaggeratedly wounded expression was the least bit funny.
    Because they’d ridden a good distance up the steep mountain path, the air was much colder. He took the time and trouble to start a campfire so she could shake off the chill. They ate a sparse lunch in silence, and just when he was beginning to think the trip wasn’t going to be completely miserable, she went and ruined it.
    â€œYou did it on purpose, didn’t you, Travis? Admit it, then apologize to me, and I just might forgive you.”
    â€œI didn’t do it on purpose. You were supposed to hook your right leg over the pommel, remember? You were the one who insisted on riding sidesaddle. How was I to know you’d never done it before?”
    â€œLadies in the South ride sidesaddle,” she announced.
    He could feel a headache coming on. “But you’re not from the South, are you? You’re from Boston.”
    â€œWhat does that have to do with the price of pickles? Southern ladies are more refined. Everyone knows that, which is precisely why I’ve decided to be Southern.”
    He could feel the throbbing behind his temples. “You can’t decide to be Southern.”
    â€œBut of course I can. I can be anything I want to be.”
    â€œWhy Southern?” he asked in spite of his better judgment.
    â€œThe little drawl in a lady’s speech is considered very feminine and musical. I’ve done a complete study of it, and I assure you I know what I’m talking about. I believe I’ve perfected the drawl too. Would you like to hear me say—”
    â€œNo, I would not. Emily, not all southern ladies ride sidesaddle.”
    The glare she gave him made him sorry he’d brought up the subject of saddles again.
    â€œMost southern women do,” she said. “And just because I have never ridden sidesaddle before doesn’t mean I couldn’t have managed it if you hadn’t interfered. You deliberately threw me over that horse, didn’t you? I could have broken my neck.”
    He wasn’t going to take the blame for her ineptness. “I merely gave you a hand up. How was I to know you’d keep on going? Is your shoulder still sore?”
    â€œNo, and I do appreciate the fact that you rubbed the sting out of it for me. Still, my dress is now covered with dirt, thank you very much. What will Clifford O’Toole think of me?”
    â€œYou’ve been wearing a pair of gloves with a large bullet hole through them. He’ll probably notice that before anything else. Besides, if he loves you, your appearance won’t matter to him.”
    She took a bite of her apple before she made up her mind to set him straight.
    â€œHe doesn’t love me. How could he? We’ve never met.”
    He closed his eyes. Conversing with Emily was proving to be as difficult as trying to win an argument with his brother Cole. It was hopeless.
    â€œYou’re going to marry a man you’ve never met? Isn’t that kind of odd?”
    â€œNot really. You’ve heard of mail-order brides, haven’t you?”
    â€œYou’re one of those?”
    â€œSort of,” she hedged. She was, of course, but pride kept her from admitting it. “Mr. O’Toole and I have corresponded, and I believe I’ve come to know him quite well. He’s an eloquent writer. He’s a poet too.”
    â€œHe wrote poems to you?” he