Chapter 50: WEDDING JITTERS
"Nothing." She sniffed again. "Not really. I'm just...I don't know...so confused."
"Do you love him?"
Francisca choked back tears and nodded. "I think so. He's really sweet."
"He is," Rose agreed. "But you say that about Pookie, too." She waited for Francisca to get control of herself before, "Francisca, do you still want to get married?"
"It's so different, Aunt Roro. He's busy all the time and he's talking about having children and I'm more scared of horseback riding than i thought I would be." She stared at her aunt with huge blue eyes before she straightened her shoulders and took a deep breath. "No," that's It. I'm going to buy a dress and I'm going to get married," Francisca said, lifting her chin. "I'm determined to grow up and act mature and responsible. Like you."
"I may be mature, but I'm not married," Rose pointed out, reaching for the whiskey bottle. Maybe a tiny bit more would help her cope. She'd tried so hard to forget yesterday. She was so in love with Andrew Johnson that when he's told her he wanted to live in his own home, with his family, she'd held her breath and hoped for... the moon.
They'd never talked of love, never said the words or spoken of the future. Their attraction was based on sex, on chemicals mixing and exploding or something like that. She was mature, but she was crazy.
Francisca ignored the comment. "I do love him and I'd do anything to make him happy."
"Loving him is one thing, Francisca. Marrying him is another." She'd be wise to listen to her own advice, she decided, polishing off her drink. She hoped the green dress fit. She wanted to give her own cowboy something to remember.
IT HAD BEEN the strangest week of his life, Andrew decided. He almost said it out loud to Pookie, who he was carrying to Shorty for what seemed like the millionth time. The little dog preferred to be with the aging cowboy more than anyone else on the ranch.
And this Sunday afternoon Andrew was going to take advantage of his day off, so Pookie was off to the bunkhouse again.
"Aw, geez," Shorty wheezed, taking the dog out of Andrew's arms. "The little guy's back to disgrace my floor again, is he?"
"He hit a few clods of dirt on the way over. I just carried him the last half of the way," Andrew said, trying not to smile. Shorty pretended to grumble about what a nuisance the little runt was, but everyone knew that the old man was going to miss the little guy when Rose left.
If Rose left. Now all Andrew had to do was figure out how to get her to stay, but even if he knew what to say and how to say it, he hadn't had many chances to talk to her. He almost suspected she was avoiding him, which made everything so damn hard and confusing.
"I just don't get it," Bobby grumbled, pulling up a chair to the bunkhouse table. "I can't get that woman to pay attention to me."
Andrew hesitated before sitting down. He'd promised Rose he'd talk to the kid, but there hadn't been much time to do that in the past few days. And now the wedding was the day after tomorrow. Two of Francisca's friends were expected to arrive in town tomorrow, in time for the so-called wedding rehearsal, not that Andrew could imagine there was much to rehearse. "You talking about Francisca?"
"Yeah." He sighed. "She was crying all over her cooking magazines last night."
Shorty, with Pookie in his arms, went over to the refrigerator and got them all bottles of beer. Dusty entered the room and helped himself to one before sitting down.
"What's going on?" Dusty asked as his beer cap went spinning into the garbage can. "Wedding jitters," Andrew explained, hoping that was all it was.
"You having second thoughts?" Dusty took a long swallow of beer before frowning at Shorty.
"You are as bad as the women with that mutt."
Pookie was in Shorty's lap at the table, his chin resting on the table's edge as he eyed the men opposite and then yawned.
"He's just fine," Shorty said. "He's right fond of me."
Andrew eyed Bobby. "Do you think the bride's having second thoughts?"
"She loves me," the kid declared and glanced at Dusty. "I'm not the one backing out if getting married, but I sure don't know what to do when she's crying."
"Women cry," Andrew declared, but his experience was limited to memories of his mother. "That's just what they do."
"Yeah," Dusty said. "Andrew's right."
"The women got dresses, right?"
Bobby nodded. "Yeah. And a bunch of other stuff, too. Francisca Handel's been making me drink coffee from Little cups. She bought some kind of special coffee machine." He sighed and looked as if he was being tortured. "I thought being married was going to be fun."
"You did?" Dusty exchanged glances with Andrew, who clapped the young man on the shoulder.
"I'm taking the aunt to an auction this afternoon," Andrew said. "So you will have time to talk to your bride and get this straightened out."
"You think I should?"
"You are running out of time," Andrew told him.
"And you'd better be damn sure that you are doing the right thing before you say I DO on Tuesday." He finished his beer, scraped back his chair and caught Shorty's eye. "We might be late, so hang onto the dog until I get back."
"Thanks, Andrew," Bobby said. "For taking care of the aunt and everything."
"No problem." He pretended not to see the grin Dusty shot his way as he left the building. He was going to entertain the auntie, all right. And then he was going to ask her to marry him.
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