âAre you and Aunt Lisa going to get married?â
âWhy do you ask that?â he said to Rose.
âBecause I heard Grandma Sullivan say that itâs wrong for you to live together without being married.â
Leave it to my mother, Sully thought.
He was at a loss as to how to answer her question, but he knew he had to give it a go.
He was about to say no, when he thought about it.
Married to Lisa?
He could almost imagine being married to her. They laughed together. They had Rose in common, bull riding and the big house on twenty acres. They both liked RV-ing, and chili, and cowboy boots. He grinned. And the sex was great, too.
Some marriages were built on less.
Life had been pretty amazing during this arrangement.
So exactly what was his answer to Roseâs question?
The door of the huge, white Victorian opened and Brett âSullyâ Sullivan walked in, his cowboy boots making a dull thud on the gleaming hardwood floor.
Standing in the middle of the great room, he seemed to be larger than life, larger than the room. He held his black cowboy hat to one side, nervously turning it between his thumb and index finger.
Lisa Phillips hadnât seen Sully in three years, and time had been good to him. His pitch-black hair was cut short with haphazard peaks on the top, and it gave him a devil-may-care look that fit his personality. Without the boots and hat and in his gray suit and maroon tie, he looked more like a lawyer than the bull rider that he was.
âWhereâs Rose?â Sully asked, his turquoise-blue eyes full of concern.
âSheâs in her room. My parents and your parents are putting her to bed,â Lisa answered, spooning sugar into her coffee.
He nodded then shifted on his feet. He seemed not to know whether to stay or go. He probably wanted to retreat back into his motor home instead of trying to make polite conversation with neighbors and relatives who were paying their respects.
Lisa would just like to fly to some place tropical. Some place where she could soak up the rays and water on a beach ⦠and maybe stop crying.
âIs that coffee?â Sully finally asked.
âYes. And itâs hot and strong.â
He pulled out a chair next to her and helped himself from the pot that someone had graciously put in front of her on a silver tray. She noticed that he drank his blackâjust like a tough cowboy should.
Lisa thought back to the day of Roseâs christening. She and Sully were Roseâs godparents and it had been a festive affair. No, it was a festive weekendâin direct contrast to today.
The evening of the christening, Rick and Carol, Sullyâs brother and her sister, had called a meeting with the two of them and asked them to be Roseâs guardians in case something happened to them.
Lisa was stunned yet flattered that she had been chosen to see to Roseâs upbringing.
Then the unthinkable happened.
Rick and Carol were gone now. Deceased. Their car had hydroplaned during a rainstorm and hit a bridge support. Rose was with them in the car, but she escaped without a scratch, safely belted into her car seat.
The realization that sheâd never see her sister, Carol, again rocked her from her hair roots to her toes, and tears pooled in her eyes. When would she ever stop crying?
And Rose ⦠She was an orphan now.
And she and Sully were Roseâs guardians.
âSully?â
âYeah?â
He turned to her. His blue eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot. For a second, she felt sorry for the cowboy. Rick was his brother and her brother-in-law. She had loved Rick, too.
âRemember sitting here three years ago?â she asked. âRick and Carol had us sign guardianship papers.â
âYeah.â
âWeâre Roseâs guardians now.â
âI know.â He pushed his cowboy hat back with a thumb. âI never thought in a million years thatââ
âMe, either. Iâm not cut out to be a mother.â
âIâll be the worst father in the world.â
âWhat was my sister thinking?â
âMy brother must have been drunk.â
Lisa took a sip of coffee. It was too strong, so she added more cream. âWhat do we do now?â
âDamned if I know.â
Lisa kicked off her heels and shrugged out of her black blazer that matched her black skirt. Sighing, she thought how she hated the suit, which she reserved for funerals.