Page 572 of Heartland Brides
Theodosia smiled. Although she had tutored her daughter in a wide variety of areas, the subject of impotence was not among them.
“Mommy will tell you when you’re older, Genevieve,” Roman answered for Theodosia. “Much older.”
“Mommy will tell you when you’re older, Genevieve,” John the Baptist echoed, waddling amidst the tall grass and patches of bluebonnets. “How is your research, Mommy?”
Genevieve patted the parrot’s soft head. “How long can African grays live, Mommy?”
“About seventy years,” Theodosia replied. “We’ll have John the Baptist for a long while.”
“He really is an astonishingPsittacus erithacus, isn’t he, Papa?” Genevieve asked, turning her startling blue gaze to her father.
Roman grinned. “Maybe so, but he can still be a mimicking, maddening, meddlesome, molting moron when he feels like it,” he said. But his insult was laced with genuine affection for the bird he felt sure would outlive him and go on to aggravate the hell out of future generations of Montanas.
The parrot flapped his right wing. “I suspect Dr. Wallaby will be highly pleased, Genevieve. He really is an astonishingPsittacus erithacus.”
“Genevieve,” Theodosia said, “do you know who is coming to help you celebrate your birthday next month?”
“Who?”
“Aunt Lillian, Uncle Upton, and Cousin Chancellor.”
Genevieve squealed and clapped. “And I’ll teach Chancellor how to track!” she exclaimed. “Poor Chancellor. Living in that big city, he doesn’t have the chance to learn much. I’m becoming as skilled as Papa at tracking now. He hid from me this afternoon, but I remembered everything he taught me and it took me only ten minutes to find him. He was in one of the barns, the one where that mother cat had her kittens. I wish I could take one of the kittens into the house, Mommy. They’re so soft. Soft as my hair ribbons. The satin ones Papa got for me.
“Do you remember when he gave me those ribbons, Mommy?” she continued merrily. “It was when he took me to town. He bought me peppermints that day, too, but they burned my nose when I ate them. I’ve tried to like peppermints, Mommy, but I cannot like them any more than I like green beans. Green beans give me nightmares, just like ghosts do. Do you believe in ghosts, Mommy? Some days come when I believe in them, and some days come when I know they aren’t reed. Could I have one of the kittens in the barn? I would like to save one of them just in case there are ghosts in the barn.”
Theodosia laughed. Her daughter was a master at country chatting and could meander orally right along with the best of them.
“When may I learn to track you like Genevieve, Papa?” another small voice asked.
Roman watched his four-year-old son, Bo, come out from behind Theodosia’s skirts. With his golden hair and huge brown eyes, the child looked just like his beautiful mother.
Bo stuck his thumb in his mouth, sucked it for a moment, then pulled it out. “Mommy told me about the time you tracked John the Baptist, Papa. She said you looked for sand on the grass.”
Roman dismounted and scooped his son into his arms. “I thought you were too interested in Mommy’s bluebonnet studies to take time to learn the art of tracking.”
“I can do both things,” Bo declared firmly, running his small, plump fingers through his father’s long, thick hair. “Yesterday Genevieve taught me to whistle through cracker crumbs.”
“It took him a long time to learn, though,” Genevieve clarified. “He was in a roinous mood, Papa.” Roman laughed, then kissed Bo’s forehead. “Don’t worry about it, son. I’ve been trying to teach your mother how to whistle through cracker crumbs for years, and she still hasn’t learned. As for teaching you to track, I’ll give you your first lesson just as soon as I talk to Mommy.” Gently, he set his son back down on the ground and watched as he and Genevieve scampered toward the pastures to play with the horses.
John the Baptist scooted along behind the children. “He was in a roinous mood, Papa,” he squawked as he scurried through the grass. “Yesterday Genevieve taught me to whistle through cracker crumbs.”
Grinning crookedly, Roman took Theodosia’s arm and led her into the shade of the majestic oak tree.
There she looked up and saw her name carved on the largest branch. Indeed, over the years Roman had chiseled her name into every tree he’d found on his ranch. And every time he performed the tradition, he carried her into the tree and fed her raisin sandwiches.
“If you want, I could test some of that impotence potion you’ve been making,” Roman offered, sliding his hands over the sides of her lush breasts. With a nod of his head, he gestured toward the vials of liquid on the wooden tables. “In a few hours, after it’s had a chance to do what it’s supposed to do, we could sneak up to our room and see just how well it works.”
Theodosia thought of the hours-long lovemaking session they’d enjoyed at dawn. Such early morning pleasures were quite often the start of their days. Roman had sired Genevieve and Bo on two such mornings…
…and in all likelihood, during a beautiful sunrise two months ago, he’d fathered the baby she carried now.
She smiled up at him. “Roman, believe me when I tell you that you’ve no need for even a drop of the remedy for impotence.”
He saw a secret in her smile and two in her gorgeous whiskey eyes. Instantly, he cupped his hand over her lower belly.
Theodosia laid her hand over his. “We’ll have another child in January.”
He held her gaze for a long tender moment. “I love you, Theodosia.”
“And I love you, Roman.”
Pulling her into his arms, he held her close for a long moment and pondered how much she meant to him. And when at last he ended the loving embrace, he touched his lips to hers, then drew his gaze down to the pin at her throat.
He caressed the heart-shaped ruby.
And watched the blaze of sunlight dance over the shimmering heartstrings.
The End
