THE KISS

HE was going to kiss her if it killed him. Andrew was tired of riding, of making small talk about horses and fences and the size of the moon. At least ten yards behind them, Francisca and Bobby chattered softly together, no doubt planning how to ditch the old folks for some privacy.

Hell, Andrew couldn't wait. He glanced toward Rose for the ten thousandth time and wondered what the hell the woman was thinking. They weren't exactly strangers, though she sure put on a good show. If he had to call her Ms Marti again he'd just as soon toss her, and her cute little behind, into the water trough.

"Is that it?" Rose asked, and Andrew looked over to see her pointing to the dark outline of the old cabin, with its sagging roof and lopsided porch.

"That's it. Where the Calhouns began homesteading in the eighteen hundreds."

"Are we going to go in?" Rose asked.

"Yes, ma'am," Bobby replied, reining in his horse next to Rose's. "I thought Francisca should see how the ranch started out."

Andrew knew that wasn't the only reason for this trip back to the past. Any red-blooded Texan would have more on his mind tonight than history.

Francisca's voice came through the darkness. "I can't wait."

"In that case," Andrew said, urging his horse forward. "We'd better get going." The future Mrs Calhoun's endured for love. And for a roof over their heads.

"Is it safe?" Rose asked a few minutes later, before stepping foot on the porch stairs.

"Wait," Andrew warned, shining the flashlight on the worn boards. "Let me go first to make sure."

"Thanks."

Over by the horses Bobby was busy kissing Francisca, so Andrew kept Rose's attention on him, which was exactly where he wanted it. He trod carefully on the stairs, even though he had stopped here two weeks ago and found the place In good shape. He made a big deal of shining the flashlight on the boards and sweeping the beam of the light across the porch. Then he held out his hand.

Rose took it without hesitating, and Andrew grasped warm, delicate fingers in his.He felt the shock in his gut, though he thought he'd prepared himself for the reaction.

"What?" she asked when he stopped moving.

"Nothing," Andrew lied. "You are perfectly safe."

But he didn't release her hand, and she didn't tug it away. He supposed she was still unsure about entering the old place, and he couldn't say he blamed her. It looked a hell of a lot worse than it was, but inside he would light a lantern and, if Bobby remembered the saddlebag, there would be something to drink.

"Is it locked?"

"This is Calhoun land." Andrew lifted the metal latch and swung the small wooden door open. "Stay beside me," he told Rose, just in case she had any ideas about dropping his hand and moving more than a few inches away. He liked how close she stood to him, the faint scent of lavender that clung to her hair, the softness of her hand he remember being on his---

"Andrew!" Bobby clomped onto the porch. "You gonna get a light on or what?"

"We are looking," he said, as Rose tugged her hand out of his and took a couple of careful steps away. He swung the flashlight toward where the lantern hung, then set it in the middle of the square pine table. It didn't take Francisca and Bobby long to join them or to open some expensive-looking cognac and pour some into four tiny glasses.

The kid handed out the drinks, then lifted his in a toast. "To your long stay in Texas, ladies."

Francisca smiled and leaned over to kiss his cheek.

"That's Sweet," she said, then turned to her aunt.

"Isn't that sweet?"

"Very," Rose said flatly. She took a sip of the drink. "This is wonderful."

"Guaranteed to take the aches and pains away," Bobby declared.

"Is that a promise?" Rose asked.

"Yes, ma'am. Andrew and I have had experience with long days in the saddle and we know how your thighs are gonna feel later on tonight."

Andrew choked on the cognac, despite the fact that his boss had opened the real expensive stuff, the bottle that his grandfather had saved for a special occasion. When he caught his breath he turned to Bobby. "You might want to rephrase that, kid."

Bobby thought for a second, then grinned at the ladies. "'Course, I'm not feeling anyone's thighs tonight."

Rose smiled, which made Andrew wish once again that they were alone. "Don't worry. I knew what you meant the first time." She gazed around the one-room cabin. "So this is where your family began the ranch."

"I come from a long line of stubborn Texans," Bobby declared, putting his around Francisca's shoulders. "Once we get set on something we don't quit."

"I can see that." Rose took another drink. "The women in your family must have worked awfully hard, cooking the meals and taking care of the children in such a small home."

History again, Andrew thought with disgust. When she should be in his arms and he should be reminding her that what they had last February they could have again. "We should start back," he said, setting his empty glass on the table.

"I wanted to show Francisca the outhouse," Bobby said, tugging the young woman toward the door.

"Why?"

"Because I've never seen any before," Francisca said, looking like she'd been deprived of something terrific.

Andrew waved them on. No one stayed long in an outhouse, especially a dark one. "We will wait by the horses."

"Francisca..."

"We will only be a minute, Aunt Roro," her niece interrupted. "I just want to see it but not go inside."

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