The Country Rose

Chapter 8: Charmed at Sunrise

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Chapter 8: Charmed at Sunrise

Austen slowly crossed the deck, his heart hammering in his chest. So long to what was supposed to be a relaxing Sunday morning ritual. As he stared across the deck at Rose, her cheeks flushed and covered with stray hairs that fell from her ponytail, Austen had the distinct feeling that he was being unfairly punished. Where most women complained about looking splotchy, the color rising across Rose's face only enhanced her beauty.

Austen groaned inwardly.

In a town where gossip traveled faster than a thoroughbred, it had not gone unnoticed that Austen took a sudden interest in the beautiful newcomer. It was something Tara browbeat him about for the rest of their night at The Brown Jug. She seemed appalled that, after their long history, he would taken even the slightest interest in Rose. He had told Tara he was simply welcoming a new face, but deep down he knew better. They both did.

It was ridiculous though. Rose and him didn't stand a chance in hell to have anything other than a couple dates, and if he were extremely lucky, a hookup or two. Good lord, even the thought was a turn on.

But it was pointless.

Had she been anyone else, anyone at all, it would have been far too easy to continue what was started Friday night, but Rose wasn't some random girl from another town or a traveler just passing through and eager for a quick screw. She was a relative of the Clarks, and therefore, off limits.

Still, it did not stop Austen from setting his tackle box on the wooden dock and plopping down next to Rose. Smiling wide, he asked, "What brings you out here?"

Her hand flew to her hair, smoothing the wild strays back into place. "John mentioned there was a trail I could run on."

"I mean, what brings you out here at this hour? Don't most girls prefer their beauty sleep?"

Rose leaned forwarded, ever so slightly as her voice turned low and playful. "I'm not most girls."

Mirroring her movement, he said, "I've noticed."

Rose's cheeks burned bright red at his words, something he enjoyed far more than he should have. Combined with the spark in her bright blue eyes and the orange glow of the rising sun warming her light skin, the woman was absolutely lethal.

In Austen's silence, Rose cleared her throat and interrupted the sound of the waking birds around them. "So," she began, "I met Tara yesterday." Austen paled. He knew far too well the lengths Tara would stoop to when she disliked someone. "I don't think we'll be friends anytime soon."

"I'm sorry. I don't know what went on between your two families, but-"

"Oh, she doesn't seem to care too much about that. At least, she didn't mention it. She did, however, seem pretty mad that you and I were... friends."

There was a challenge in Rose's stare, as if she was daring him to admit there was something stronger than friendship growing between them.

"Than I'm really sorry," he said again, shaking his head. Mad was not the word he would use to describe Tara Clark. Down right pissed off was a closer description. It did not matter that they weren't together, or that they hadn't been in years. "Tara and I have..." Austen took a deep breath, searching for the right words to say. "We have long history, but I don't want that mess up anything between you two."

Rose scoffed. "Honestly, I don't think she would like me even if you guys had a short history. But why don't you tell me about it anyways."

"It's...complicated."