Chapter Six

Colorado Springs

Rosie woke up alone the following morning. She knew that she would, of course. Preston had left at five o'clock as usual, and one night together wasn't going to change his routine. She hadn't expected it to.

By all rights, she should have been ashamed of both herself and Preston. It went without saying that their actions had been wholly inappropriate. They weren't married, there was no question that they ever would be married. She hadn't left a scandal behind to promptly get herself involved with another scandal. All she had wanted to do was move to a new town and start again. He had told her almost as soon as he met her that he wasn't interested in having a new wife, and they had settled into a comfortable routine together of landlord and lodger. Why did he have to go and spoil things like that?

She thought for a moment of Mr Glassbrook, the assistant principal of the school she had taught in back east. She pulled the bedclothes up around her chin as his face came into focus in her mind's eye. Their relationship had been too personal of a friendship for far too long, and in hindsight it was fortunate for both of them that someone had walked in on them before they really had gone too far. In the end, the fact that they hadn't actually performed the act was largely irrelevant. The intent and desire had been there, and for a few moments' pleasure she found that her entire world had come crashing down around her ears. Nothing had changed for Mr Glassbrook. He was still married to his wife, who had been hailed as a veritable saint by all who knew of the story, and his position at the school was unaltered. In fact the rumour was that he had even been given a salary increase.

It didn't seem fair somehow. Rosie had been a good teacher, she had been happy in her work. She had been as happy as she could be in her home, with the ghosts and memories of the past following her around. She had slept in her marital bed alone every night, wishing for so many years that a mistake had been made and George wasn't really dead, that he would open the bedroom door at that moment, explain that it had all been a big misunderstanding, take her in his arms and make love to her as he had done so many times before. Now her home belonged to someone else, another couple slept in her bed and she was only a memory to Philadelphia.

If that was what had happened to her after a few stolen kisses in her employer's office, she dreaded to think what she was likely to lose after what she had done with Preston.

Her thoughts now filled with him as she glanced up at the clock. Just after nine o'clock. He would already be in the mine now, working hard, probably trying to forget what had happened the previous night. The small of her back and her neck ached and as she sat up and examined herself she could already see small fingerprint-shaped bruises forming around her breasts and thighs. She blushed violently as she remembered how forceful and vigorous they had been together at first, and giggled with embarrassment when she remembered him whispering "ladies first" to her just before she came the first time, followed shortly by him. They had gone on twice more until, exhausted, they eventually lay together silently, listening to each other breathing, his head on her chest and his arms wrapped tightly around her as she stroked his hair softly, her legs lazily wrapped around his waist. If she thought hard enough she could almost feel the weight of his body on top of hers and the thought alone made her head swim with delight.

She lay back down and rested her head on his pillow, turning her face into it so she could breathe in his scent that remained. She drifted back to sleep, clutching his pillow against her body, and finally woke properly almost an hour later. She had never slept in so late in her life.

When she had argued with herself and forced herself to get out of bed, she took the bedclothes with her and determined to clean them. After all, she reasoned, if she removed all trace of what had happened between them, she could easily forget and move on with her life. She drew a cold bath for herself and lowered herself into it, hoping that would somehow quell the fire that still burned between her legs. She shivered as she lowered herself fully into the bathtub, letting out a small squeal when she felt how cold the water was against her legs. She immersed her shoulders beneath the water, closed her eyes and sighed as she felt herself cool down everywhere.

If only she could get the taste of his kiss from her still tingling lips and out of her mind, everything would soon be back to normal. She took a deep breath, screwed her eyes shut and ducked her head underwater, as if the action would somehow cleanse her memories, too.

When she could hold her breath no longer, she resurfaced, gasping for air. She wiped the excess water from her face and rested her head against the back of the bathtub.

"You've really done it this time, Rosalind," she scolded herself.

She had already wasted her morning, her mind so full of Preston that she could barely even see straight. There was so much to do in the house and so much to prepare over the weekend for her first day in her new job that she had no time to sit around and mope any further. With a cry of horror, she remembered that she had invited Colleen and Michaela over for lunch that afternoon before Colleen and Andrew returned home, and that they would be there within an hour. She quickly dressed and started frantically preparing a meal.

Without considering the matter for too long, Rosie decided that she couldn't love Preston. There was no way in the world she could possibly love him. She had been in love once, and that had been with her husband. Love, she had been led to believe, only really came around once in a lifetime - and even that was only if one was very lucky. She wasn't an especially romantic woman, she was sensible and pragmatic. Life had to go on, and she no longer felt any moral attachment to the memory of her husband. Nevertheless, Rosie had loved George with all of her heart, and she felt she would never love anyone again in that way. Not even Preston.

It simply wouldn't do for her to fall in love with him. Besides, he had already refused her once. She had come to Colorado Springs, viewing a marriage to him as a sort of business arrangement. Both needed some stability in their lives and both needed some companionship. They would have learned to get along as they had done anyway, it wouldn't have been a blissful marriage but it wouldn't have been desperately unhappy. However, he had refused the proposal outright, and she didn't think he had much reason to retract his original decision, even after what had happened the night before.

As she began to prepare the vegetables for lunch, her thoughts unexpectedly filled once more with Preston, imagining him grabbing her from behind in a tight embrace and kissing her neck passionately. She gasped and blushed bright red as she shook her head to get the image out of her head.

"Stuff and nonsense," she grumbled as she continued to chop vegetables, slightly more vigorously than before.

Michaela and Colleen arrived a little late that afternoon, which Rosie was most grateful for. She tried to concentrate on their conversation, but her mind kept wandering to thoughts of the night before and wondering how Preston was faring that morning at the mine, and if he missed her. Not that he would miss her, of course. She had taken such a back seat during the conversation that she didn't really pay a great deal of attention when Michaela or Colleen attempted to involve her.

"-do you think so, Rosie?" Michaela asked.

"Yes, yes. Absolutely," Rosie answered, not too sure what she'd just agreed to. When she saw Michaela and Colleen's confused frowns, she realised that she had just made a terrible faux pas.

"Really?" Michaela asked, her frown deepening. Rosie blushed.

"I'm sorry, Michaela, I'm afraid I didn't quite hear you," she said, choosing honesty over any further attempts to cover up for herself, knowing any such attempt would only make matters worse.

"I hope you don't mind me saying, Rosie, but you've been very distracted since we got here - is everything all right?" Michaela asked. Rosie nodded.

"Absolutely. I'm sorry, I've been a dreadful hostess," she said. "Can I get you more cordial?"

"No, we're fine, but you don't look well. You seem a little flushed," Michaela said, leaning across to Rosie and feeling her forehead with the back of her hand. "At least you've no fever, so that's reassuring. I'm a little worried about you though, you don't quite seem yourself."

"Honestly, I'm perfectly all right. I just had a late night last night and Preston..." Rosie found that she couldn't continue her sentence after saying his name.

"What about Preston?" Colleen asked, concerned. "Is there a problem?"

"No, no. Nothing like that," Rosie answered. "I just, uh... It's nothing."

"It doesn't sound like nothing to me," Michaela said, patting Rosie's hand reassuringly. "We're your friends, Rosie - you know you can tell us anything."

"I told you, it's nothing," Rosie answered, shaking her head briskly. "It's all fine. We just had a little too much gin and lemonade last night and stayed up too late." None of her explanation had been a lie. Colleen frowned and tilted her head slightly as she looked at Rosie.

"Did something happen between the two of you?" she asked. Rosie looked sharply at her.

"What do you mean?"

Michaela and Colleen shared a knowing look and couldn't help but giggle at Rosie's flustered expression.

"Something did happen!" Colleen declared. "What is it? He didn't... Did he... Preston didn't kiss you, did he?"

Rosie paused for a moment before blushing so red she could feel heat radiating from her face. It would never have even come up into her mind to tell them he'd done far more than just kiss her. Her friends beamed at her and tried their hardest not to laugh, with very limited success.

"I must say, I'm not exactly surprised," Michaela said, when she had stopped chuckling. Rosie frowned slightly.

"You aren't?"

"No, I saw the way he was looking at you last night - and the way you both looked at each other when you were dancing together. You were both so happy, I've never seen Preston look that way at anyone," she said. "If anything, I think the biggest surprise is that it took you both so long in the first place!"

"I'm quite sure it was just the excitement of the evening and the gin. It won't happen again," Rosie said, briskly. Michaela and Colleen both looked at her disbelievingly. "What?"

"Just the excitement of the evening?" Colleen asked, her eyes twinkling with mirth. Rosie shrugged.

"I don't see what's so difficult to believe about that. I'm sure there's medical research to prove that sometimes people do stupid things in the heat of the moment. That's why it's called 'the heat of the moment'!" she protested.

"It must have been quite some moment, Rosie, you're still blushing!" Colleen pointed out. Rosie sighed.

"Well, he's away for five days now. Plenty of time for both of us to forget it ever happened," she said. Her tone was confident but her doubtful expression was matched by both Michaela and Colleen.

Leadville

Leaving Rosie behind had been the most difficult thing Preston had forced himself to do in years. He had slept soundly and was so comfortable he would have gladly stayed in her embrace for several more hours. He had no idea how he had actually managed to arrive at the mine without getting hopelessly lost on the way, as he had taken absolutely no notice of the path that his horse had taken him on. The only thoughts occupying his mind were the memories of the previous night.

It didn't take very long for him to start feeling guilty about their actions. Preston knew that the guilt he felt was not his own, but rather displaced from Society's expectations of the interpersonal relationships between unmarried men and women. Convention told him that what had happened the previous night was wrong, that he had no place to take a woman into his bed before he married her.

He thought about Rosie, how she would feel upon waking up in an empty bed. He hoped she would understand that his absence was not indicative of his feelings for her. Had it been a day or two earlier, he would have stayed with her for as long as she wanted him to, his hands and lips caressing every inch of her body until she begged him to take her again. Biting his lip and blushing slightly at the thought, he remembered the way she had whispered his name and the groans of delight she had made as he had entered her.

She had wanted him. For the first time in more years than he cared to remember, someone had actually wanted him to be there. Someone had actually wanted, needed, begged for him to stay, to not leave. He had forgotten entirely how it felt to be wanted. Not even in the context that Rosie had wanted him, just in a general sense that his mere existence did not cause offence to another living soul. She had clung to him so tightly, told him how good he was, how beautiful he was, how she didn't want him to go. That almost felt as good to him as the act itself.

Convention, he thought defiantly, could go to hell.

As usual, he arrived at the mine just after eight o'clock. Most of the men were exhausted from their weekends or just their bodies' inability to cope with long travelling hours combined with ungodly early starts. His lack of conversation was attributed to a lack of sleep and a shortage of coffee on site.

If Preston had ever had any problems during his adult life, his usual way of working them out was to work hard, leaving him so exhausted that he didn't have the energy to worry about anything else. Upon arriving at the mine, he determined that he would simply work out his frustration at not being able to physically be with Rosie - although he knew that whatever was left of his heart had remained with her. He refused to allow himself to believe that perhaps she would help to mend the damage that had already been done to his heart, and he couldn't even dare to hope that she would let him do the same for her, as much as he longed to do anything he could to make her happy.

He focussed so hard on his work that he barely noticed the time flying by, and he didn't even hear the bell ringing to signal a well-earned lunch break.

"Hey! Silver Spoon!" an older man shouted, causing Preston to rouse from his reverie.

"Sorry, did I miss something?" he asked. 'Silver Spoon' had been his nickname since he had started work in the mine, due to his well-educated and privileged background. The name had started as a disparaging slur, and Preston had been made aware in no uncertain terms that just because he came from money, there was now no difference between him and any other mine worker.

Rather than the new, unfamiliar situation making Preston feel intimidated, he had felt a huge sense of relief that he could conduct his daily business - finally free of the stresses and constrictions associated with being a Lodge. Over the ensuing two years he had kept his head down, pulled his weight and allowed his work to speak for him, so that now 'Silver Spoon' was used as a term of endearment by the older men who viewed him as something of a surrogate son or nephew.

"You've barely said two words all morning, boy," the man said to him, taking his helmet off and wiping the sweat from his brow as he sat on a nearby rock.

"Is it lunchtime already?" Preston asked, wondering where the time had gone to. Frank nodded and handed him a sandwich with his grubby hands. Preston took it from him and ate greedily, not realising how hungry he was until he started eating.

"Slow down, son, you're gonna make yourself sick!" Frank advised with a chuckle. Preston rolled his eyes and smiled good-naturedly.

"Only one reason a man's quiet all day and eats like a horse!" a man named John said. Preston looked at him sharply but didn't say anything.

"That's true, Johnny," Frank agreed, his old blue eyes twinkling mischievously. "Ol' Silver must'a got himself some last night!"

Preston genuinely wanted the earth to open up and swallow him whole - which was a wish no self-respecting miner should ever make.

"I, umm, I don't, uh-" he stammered, trying to play dumb but knowing it wouldn't work anyway. Frank and John cackled at the horrified expression on his face.

"Nothin' to be ashamed of, Silver, we're all men - we got needs too!" John told him, clapping him warmly on the shoulder.

"She the little girl moved in with you that almost half-year ago?" Frank asked. Preston closed his eyes and cringed. "She is, ain't she?"

"I'd really rather not-"

"Hey Frank, leave the boy be. These rich types got some sorta issue talkin' about personal stuff!" John said, patting Preston's shoulder comfortingly. Preston smiled gratefully at him. "It ain't none of our business."

"Thank you, John," Preston said.

"Ah, so you did screw her!" John declared, pointing at him triumphantly. Preston blushed a firey red.

"I don't think this is the time or place to discuss-"

"You're embarrassin' the boy, Johnny!" Frank chided him. Preston had now gone far past the point of embarrassment, and could only hope in vain that he was having some sort of bizarre vivid dream.

"Well, shit son, I didn't mean nothin'!" John apologised. "Tell us about your girl, what's her name?"

"She's... she's not my girl, exactly," Preston said, carefully. "Her name's Rosie."

"Rosie," Frank repeated, giving Preston a nod of approval. "That's a pretty name. I had a cousin once, named Rosie. She pretty?"

"She's beautiful," Preston answered, smiling shyly. Frank beamed at him and let out a hoot of laughter.

"I wouldn't have owned it! Ol' Silver Spoon! Never knew you had it in ya, son!" he said, chuckling to himself as he shook his head.

"I think it was Rosie had it in her!" John said, dryly. The older men howled with laughter as Preston rubbed his forehead with his fingertips, wishing he could close his eyes and magically transport himself back to his own living room.

"Thank you, gentlemen. Very amusing," he said, sarcastically.

"Listen, Preston, you wake up in the mornin' piss-proud an' you just keep it to yourself, you hear?" John advised, his eyes gleaming with mischief. Preston let out a groan of shame and buried his face in his hands as Frank and John laughed hysterically at his reaction.

The ensuing days dragged more than usual and all Preston wanted to do was go home and see Rosie. There was too much that had been left unsaid, so many things that needed to be decided between them. Most of all though, he wanted to hold her close to him, feel her arms around him and tell her how much he had missed her.

Eventually Wednesday evening came and, after what felt like an eternity of travelling, he finally saw the light in the parlour window of his house. His heart started to beat faster and his stomach churned with excitement as he urged his horse to quicken his pace. The horse made a valiant attempt to speed up, but unfortunately he was just as tired as Preston himself was and the result was more of a lazy trot than a canter.

Just as he grabbed the door handle to turn it, he stopped himself. What if Rosie had packed her things and had only waited for him to say goodbye? What if she never wanted to see him again, what if she thought he had in any way made her feel obligated to stay with him that night? What if he had been blisfully unaware of how wretched and disgusted with herself she had felt all week, knowing that his hands had touched her, that his lips had been on her body? What if she hated him? What if he had only succeeded in driving her away forever? His face fell and he rubbed his hands over his stubbled jaw, his fingers shaking with nerves.

Eventually, he took a deep breath and opened the door.

"Rosie?" he called, his voice wavering slightly with anxiety. His face fell as he saw that the room was empty and he felt a sickening feeling inside of him. A few moments later, to his abject relief, he heard footsteps upstairs and within moments Rosie appeared at the top of the stairs. "Umm... I'm back," he said, not too sure what else to say. She smiled softly at him.

"So I see," she answered, trotting down the stairs to greet him. "Did you have a good week?"

"It was slow and hard work, and I'm, umm. I'm glad to be home," he said, the tips of his ears turning pink as he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "How, umm, how was your week? Did you start at the Gazette?"

"Yes I did. It's a very busy office, but I'm really enjoying it. And here," she said, opening a dresser drawer and taking out an envelope. "Take this," she offered, handing it to him.

"What is it?"

"It's half my wages. To cover my room and board," she said. He frowned.

"You don't need to-"

"I do," she said, firmly. She caught the flicker of hurt that flashed across his eyes and her expression softened. "If you're going to get your Resort back, you can't afford to have anyone who doesn't pull their weight around here," she explained. He handed the envelope back to her.

"You do enough," he said. She shook her head and put her hands behind her back.

"Nobody can live rent-free, Preston. Take it. I won't take 'no' for an answer," she insisted, her eyes twinkling impishly at him. He smiled gratefully.

"Thank you. I really appreciate it. But please don't think-"

"I don't."

There was an awkward pause for a few moments before Preston cleared his throat and spoke again.

"Rosie, I want to apologise for... for what happened on Saturday," he said. She frowned, confused that he hadn't even mentioned what had happened on Friday. "I shouldn't have left without at least saying goodbye."

"You had to get up at four o'clock, I wouldn't have thanked you for waking me up at that ungodly hour," she replied with a brief grin that quickly disappeared as she continued speaking. "I'm sorry too. For Friday. It should never have happened. I think we should just put the whole experience down to too much merriment and try and move on. If you want me to leave-"

"No!" Preston interrupted, hurriedly. "Don't go. Please. Please stay."

"It won't be awkward?" she asked. He shook his head.

"Rosie, I'm not sorry for what we did. I won't excuse my actions with alcohol or overexcitement or anything else," he told her, firmly. "I've spent the last few months trying to pretend that we could only ever be friends and that I didn't feel any more for you than an obligation of care as a friend. But I was lying. The whole time I was lying, to both of us. I know what happened isn't what two respectable unmarried adults should do, but... forgive me, I can't help how I feel about you."

"Preston, it isn't that," she said. "I don't care what other people think of me. Hell, they already think we've been together this way for months anyway, nobody would be remotely surprised even if they did know."

"What is it? Do you not feel the same way?" he asked. She looked up at him, helplessly.

"I shouldn't feel the same way," she said. "You should be ashamed of yourself. I should be ashamed of myself."

"Why?"

"Because... because it was wrong. How I feel, how you feel - it doesn't matter. Neither of us are in a financial or emotional position to marry, so neither of us can well afford to allow ourselves to develop feelings for each other," she said.

"Isn't it a little late for that?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. She sighed. "Tell me you had no feelings for me before Friday."

"I can't," she answered, truthfully. "But it doesn't change anything. What happened can't happen again, it was wrong of me to allow my heart to rule my head."

"Was it?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. She nodded, looking forlornly at him. He held his hand out to her. "Come here," he said. She obeyed him and he took her hands in his. "Does this feel wrong?" he asked, looking deeply into her eyes. She bit her lip and shook her head. He wrapped his arms around her and held her closely to him. "Does this?" he asked, gently.

"No," she answered, not much louder than a whisper. He pulled away slightly, cupped her face in his hands and kissed her deeply. "Does that feel wrong?" he asked, his lips still dangerously close to hers. She blinked a few times before shaking her head and clinging more tightly to him as she returned his kiss.

"No."

"Then... then none of this can be wrong. Can it?" he asked. She hesitated. "Please, Rosie. I've lost everything that I've ever cared about. Please don't make me lose you, too. I don't think I could bear it."

"Oh, Preston," she said with a sigh as she wrapped her arms tightly around him. "Part of me wishes I didn't care about you at all."

"What about the other part?" he asked, a little worried.

"The other part doesn't care about anything except you," she said, honestly. He beamed for a moment before frowning.

"Which part's bigger?" he asked, suddenly feeling more worried than ever. She grinned at him, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Stop talking and kiss me before I change my mind," she insisted.