Romancing Redemption Read online

  The crazy urge to find out what the stubble around his lips would feel like as it grazed her bottom lip almost made her giggle.

  She didn’t giggle.

  His rugged charm magnetically pulled her gaze his way as she tried to focus on Sara Beth. Part of her wanted to tell him she wasn’t worth a date but another, larger part of her wanted to nibble his earlobe – no, wait, find out what he wanted. That’s what she meant. Heck, she’d have to lie like the devil to stay around him.

  And she was worth a date. A lot of them. She just didn’t know how to convince him of that.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Rourke, I don’t know what else to say.” It was awkward calling him by his last name considering he couldn’t be more than four or five years older than her. But she’d watched him from afar and he’d always handled everything around town with such formality. She glanced at the horse booth, spying Sara Beth patting the horse goodbye.

  “It’s Michael. You make it sound like my grandfather’s standing behind me.” He held out his hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you... Rosie.”

  Lifting her sunglasses to peruse him without obstruction, she accepted his gesture and smiled. “I honestly cannot believe you know my name.” Warm and calloused fingers wrapped around her palm. Michael Rourke could be what Sara Beth referred to as “the perfect combination of man”.

  He winked. “Why wouldn’t I know your name? You work at the diner and you’re a natural blonde.” Motioning toward the waves she had shoved under her hat, he added. “Which you shouldn’t hide under a hat, it’s gorgeous.”

  “How do you know it’s natural?” She couldn’t look away. He’d captivated her, the way his lips formed his drawl just so. She wanted to watch him talk all day.

  “In all the time I’ve seen you, I’ve never seen your hair color change or show roots.” He laughed, the melodic sound swirled around her on the soft breeze. “My mother and sister are hair coloring queens and I’ve seen enough rainbow roots, I can spot a dye job when I see one. And you don’t have one.”

  At just that moment, a large chunk of Rosie’s hair fell from the bucket of her hat to land on her shoulder.

  Tenderness softened the humor from his eyes and lips. He reached for her, softly twisting the golden strands between his fingers and thumbs. His voice lowered, the rasp and huskiness returning from when he’d arrived. “And nothing this soft has ever been ruined with chemicals.” He tucked the stray hair up into her hat, the rounded bottom of his bicep brushing across her ear and neck.

  The effort to not lean into his solid strength took more out of her than she’d thought possible.

  Rosie offered a half-shrug. “Is your hair naturally dark?” She groaned inwardly. Seriously? Had she just asked that?

  He laughed again, the sound warm with humor, but not at her expense. “Yes, it is. Although when I was younger, my oldest sister tried coloring my hair with Kool-Aid. She wanted it to turn the brightest green – lime, I think.”

  “I bet it smelled delicious.” Rosie’s laugh mingled with his and when she fell silent, she found herself just staring into his eyes. The silence between them full of static and comfort.

  After a long drawn out moment that might have been a lot of moments combined, Rosie bit her lip. “I’m so sorry. I hate to leave. I know it’s just something people say, but it is nice to meet you. Thank you for the flower. I would love to stay and talk, but we were just leaving. I’m already running late for work.” She lifted the bloom and tilted it toward him. “Is it dumb for me to say have a nice day?” Had she seriously just flirted with him? With a flower?

  “Rosie, I doubt anything you say is dumb.” He pinched the brim of his hat and tilted it to her and watched as she turned to join Sara Beth in front of the horses.

  The tingle in her palm from his touch intensified with her disappointment that he didn’t chase after her, demanding her attention.

  Watching over her sister’s shoulder, Sara Beth’s eyes grew wide and the grin on her face had Rosie rolling her eyes. Sara Beth’s squeal probably reached everyone on the reservation – including Michael Rourke. “Oh wow, Rosie, please tell me that was the Michael Rourke talking to you!” She stared longer toward the spot Rosie had left Michael. “He is so cute.”

  But Rosie didn’t turn. Regret would be something she’d deal with later.

  She grabbed Sara Beth’s hand and tugged her toward the Volkswagen Beetle she’d recently taken ownership of. Parked under a collection of evergreen trees, the bright blue Bug shined. If one looked past the dented bumper and the small rust spots on the back quarter-panel, they’d see the beauty in the simple machine.

  For Rosie the way it looked didn’t matter. No, the freedom in owning something all by herself that could take her and Sara Beth wherever they wanted or needed to go was paramount.

  “Climb in and tell me what you have planned for tonight while I’m at work. We have a bit of a drive.” Rosie couldn’t help throwing one last look behind her where she’d left Michael. He’d disappeared. A little disappointed and more than a bit regretful she didn’t get one last chance to smile his way, Rosie forced her dreams of Michael to the recesses of her mind until she had a chance to recall every memory of him and their conversation. Times like that she longed for a girlfriend who would let her hash out everything as many times as she wanted.

  Oh, well. She shook off her regret.

  She had work to do. She hoped to have the chance to date him, but not until she was working for herself.

  Even daughters of men like Devlyn Caracus had dreams.

  Michael

  Chapter 3

  MICHAEL PUFFED HIS chest out as he walked from Rosie Scott. He’d finally gotten up the nerve to talk to her. From afar, she had the soft-spoken allure of a fairy tale princess in the stories his grandmother had read him as a child. But up close, her smile captured him and her skin had him aching to reach out and touch it. And, dang, if she wasn’t sassy as hell. He grinned just thinking about it.

  At the line to the vendor booths along the northern side of the fair, his best-friend, Jeffrey, waited with his hands in his jeans pockets. “How’d it go?”

  Michael turned and watched the blue Bug roll out of view. He lifted his hat, allowing cool air to swarm his crown before sliding it back into place. “I gave her the Aster and she didn’t bite.” He turned back to his friend, conscious of his idiotic grin but unable to make it go away.

  “Oh, I bet you would’ve liked her to, though, right? Come on, Rourke. Did you ask her out?” Jeffrey waited expectantly for a yes, his grin a sure sign that he expected a positive answer.

  Michael cleared his throat. Shaking his head, he shrugged. “No, but I think I can next time. I finally had the guts to speak to her. Do you know how hard that was?” Rosie Scott wasn’t one of the rodeo groupies passing through town, looking for a good time. She wasn’t even extremely friendly with people. She was overly nice, but standoffish regarding relationships.

  “Yeah, she’s pretty unapproachable.” Jeffrey clasped his hand on Michael’s shoulder and directed him down the aisle of booths. “Come on, let’s have something to drink. We can have dinner, too, if you’re serious about eating.” Raised to never be tardy to a meal, Michael had become the butt of jokes among the other ranch hands at Lacey Cavern because of his promptness.

  He grinned, still floating from his conversation with Rosie. “What can I say? I love my food.”

  Rosie Scott landed on his list of things he loved, too. He just hadn’t had a chance to date her yet.

  MICHAEL GROANED, ROLLING over in the twin-sized bed he claimed as his in the ranch bunkhouse. He’d had too much to drink on his day off and the alcohol gods reared their heads to celebrate, giving him an overly large headache and an even larger urge to visit the bathroom.

  Something had woken him, but he couldn’t remember what it was.

  “Rourke, phone.” Another ranch hand already up tossed the cordless piece onto Michael’s chest.

  Of course, it
was the phone. The peeling bell had broken through his coma and pulled him from a dream where he and Rosie —

  “Hello? Hello? Michael?” Even the phone muffled on his chest couldn’t contain the commanding tone of his grandfather’s voice.

  Michael stifled a yawn and took a deep breath. One had to be completely awake and ready for full combat when dealing with Donald Rourke. He pulled the phone to his ear and forced the sleep from his throat. “Good morning, Grandfather. How are you today?”

  “Good morning? It’s almost noon. Are you lying around again, Michael? Ronan James doesn’t tolerate laziness. I don’t either. If you want to maintain your position as the heir to this ranch, you’ll get off your butt and earn it. I had to.” He clipped his words as if biting the consonants like steak.

  “Yes, sir. I’m actually scheduled for the late shift this week and I just got to bed a few hours ago. Honest, sir. I’m not lazing around on the job. I’m working hard.” Michael hated the pleading in his voice. Respectability and honor held more than meaning in the Rourke family. Nothing was worth more than how others perceived the family.

  “Well, I’m glad to hear it. From what Ronan has reported, you’re performing consistently and above mark. I’m calling because you missed our scheduled conversation thirty minutes ago.” Ever punctual, his grandfather refused to release others from the expectation of timeliness.

  Michael nodded, even though his grandfather couldn’t see the gesture. “Yes, sir. I apologize, sir. I forgot to set my alarm.” He wouldn’t offer anything further in the excuse department. One thing Donald Rourke wouldn’t tolerate more than slothfulness and tardiness was irresponsibility.

  And until four years ago, Michael had been the embodiment of everything the Rourke family wasn’t.

  Being the only male descendant left him in the lurch. If he wanted to have a future with Rourke Ranch, he’d straighten out his act and prove his trustworthiness and hardworking ethics or the ranch would go to his sister and her husband.

  He couldn’t have that.

  His dying grandmother had made him promise.

  Michael’s grandfather hung up. He’d never been one to waste time over trivialities. For most of Michael’s life, he’d had to learn to deal with the sting of the blunt edge that wrapped his grandfather in strength.

  He punched end on the phone and rested his arm across his eyes. Groaning, he pushed the phone further from him on the mattress.

  “That bad, huh?” Jeffrey leaned on the wooden post of Michael’s bed.

  Avoiding the bright light streaming in through the skylights, Michael used his forearm to shade his eyes. “Always.”

  Jeffrey plopped onto his mattress feet from where Michael lay. “When’s he going to let you back on?”

  Sighing, Michael turned his head to face Jeffrey from beneath the protection of his arm. He screwed his lips to the side. “I don’t know. My grandfather is one of a kind. Your background and who you are is what makes you. I messed up in college, man. You were there. He’ll never let me live it down. I’ll never be able to escape it.” But hopefully, Donald Rourke would allow Michael to take his rightful place at the helm of the family ranch.

  If he didn’t, Michael would have to ranch hand for the rest of his life. He’d never make enough to be able to save and buy a plot of his own land. Plus, if he was out of the family enough to lose his spot at the ranch, he’d lose his family, too. The Rourkes didn’t forgive much of anything.

  Thoughts of his own land and maybe even his own family directed his thoughts toward Rosie.

  He grinned. “Can you believe it, Jeffrey? I talked to her yesterday. She’s amazing.”

  Jeffrey rolled his eyes. “Yeah, man. Finally. You’ve only watched her like a half-crazed stalker for almost three years. You going to wait another four years before asking her out?”

  Would a woman like Rosie consider going out with a simple ranch hand? She worked at the diner. He’d been in a few times to sit at the counter and watch her from afar. Her blonde hair, always up, brought out the honey gold of her skin. Sometimes when she concentrated, her nose crinkled and she chewed on her bottom lip. Just talking to her at the Salish fair had taken a lot of nerve for him.

  He shrugged. “She’s not like the other girls. I want this one long term, not just a fling. You don’t mess around with a girl like that. She’s going to help me get back into the family.” But Michael hid behind his cavalier attitude. Something about Rosie stirred the desire in him to be better, do better. She never stopped working. He envied her drive.

  He wanted to wake up next to her for as long as he lived on the earth.

  Corny as it sounded.

  She’d lit up when he’d given her the simple flower. Just to see that glow again, Michael would give her a flower every day for the rest of her life, if he could convince her to spend time with him.

  The last thing he wanted was to spook her.

  And telling her they belonged together for life was guaranteed to scare the saddle right off any mare.

  Rosie

  Chapter 4

  Bent over the fifth bucket of soapy water, Rosie lifted her hand and wiped her forearm across her forehead. She’d been cleaning the white floor of the museum for over three hours and it still looked like a stampeding bull with tap shoes had done a recital over every inch of the place.

  “Stupid marks. Come on.” She’d run out of her special mix that she used to clean everything. The same mix that had gained her a job on the spot when she’d escaped the whore house. She’d proven she could clean better than most at the say-nothing-know-nothing motel located just on the outskirts of Colby.

  The same motel many of Madam’s clients stayed while visiting the shameless house.

  The same motel he owned.

  Rosie’s options were few and far between at the time. But she’d worked her way out of that small no-good motel and moved her and Sara Beth into Colby where no one knew them and no one seemed interested enough in trying.

  How was she going to get the marks out before morning?

  She’d scored the museum job outside of her normal cleaning, dishwashing, and waitressing position at the diner when she’d overheard the museum curator bemoaning the horrible conditions of his floors. Identifying an opportunity for a future client, should she ever get her business started, she interrupted his conversation and offered to give it a try.

  And there she sat. At one-thirty – she shot a glance at the platter-sized wall clock – make that one-forty-seven in the morning and not one store was open. She just needed one more pint of vinegar. At that point, she’d even settle for cider vinegar.

  Cider. Of course. Rosie tossed the sponge into the bucket, wiping her hands on her worn jeans.

  The bar had to have something and they’d be open for another thirteen minutes. She’d met Gus a few times at the diner where she’d served his table. Nice guy and always willing to talk business.

  Using the set of keys the curator had given her for the small building, she locked the door behind her.

  A warm breeze caressed her neck, cooling the sweat on her skin and raising goose bumps on her arms. Half a block down, the Saloon offered the only life on the street under the blanket of diamond speckled darkness.

  Night was always her favorite time.

  Her footsteps crunched over loose gravel on the cement sidewalks. She swung her arms loosely at her sides, not even taking a moment to look in the dark shop windows that she passed.

  Using the handrail to turn her momentum inside the bar, Rosie pushed the door open and tripped on the jam, falling onto the floor of the dim interior. Before she could stand, a strong hand grasped her elbow and helped her up.

  She brushed at the legs of her pants and lifted her gaze. Heat flooded her face. “Phillip. What are you doing here?” He hounded her at the worst times. Ever since hiring her to clean the motel after she escaped Madam’s, Phillip had done everything in his power to insinuate himself into her everyday life. Every. Day.

 
; “Come on, Rosie. I can’t even help you without you losing it?” Tall enough to make her tilt her head back and blond enough that the neon light reflected off his hair, the man smiled softly without the sentiment reaching his eyes. “Don’t cause a scene. I’m just waiting for you to finish at the museum. Are you okay? That was some fall.” He glanced around at the sparse occupants of the room and leaned in conspiratorially. “Don’t worry, I don’t think anyone noticed. And why would they take notice of a whore?”

  “You noticed a whore. What does that say about you?” Casting a fleeting search through the bar for anyone whom she might recognize, Rosie bit her tongue on more she wanted to say and smiled tightly. He’d never let her forget that she came out of the Ranch. He didn’t care when she claimed not to sell herself.

  In a sickly sweet tone, she added. “Thanks for helping. I’m running behind.” She reached up and tucked her hair back from where it’d fallen. She ignored his comment about waiting for her. No matter where she was or what she was doing, he was always waiting for her. Watching her. Sometimes she couldn’t breathe because of it.

  He shrugged, allowing her to pull away, and followed her to the counter. “Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately, Rosie? You’re beginning to look haggard.”

  Unsure of the meaning of his tone or the exact nature of what the come-on’s agenda was, Rosie glanced his way before she waved the bartender down. Who knew what Phillip wanted at any given moment. Rosie was convinced he was crazy.

  While she waited for Gus to finish with the current customer and come to her, she spoke to Phillip carefully. “I don’t know what you want tonight, Phillip, but I’m working. Please, leave me alone.” Phillip was nothing short of dangerous. He’d insinuated himself into her life from the beginning.

  But he didn’t know about her father. At least she had that saving grace.

  He reached up and rolled a curl loose from her bun. She shrank from his touch, but he didn’t stop. “You need to take better care of yourself. Who knows when this town will be ready for its very own Mare Ranch. I keep telling you, you could be the star showgirl.”