Chapter Four

Rosie walked besideCharles. "Look there," she pointed toward a hawk soaring above them, its cry piercing the silence. "Freedom must feel like that, don't you think?" She'd had her first taste of freedom the night she and her sisters had left the farm where they grew up.

Charles followed her gaze, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Perhaps. But even the hawk must return to the nest."

"Then I hope he has someone warm waiting for him," Rosie said, a playful lilt in her voice. When Charles allowed himself to relax, which didn't happen often, Rosie found him downright charming and fun to be around.

As the trail took a lazy turn, they stumbled upon an unexpected treasure: a hidden meadow bursting with wildflowers, a riot of colors set against the green canvas of Hope Springs. Rosie's breath caught in her throat at the sight, her heart suddenly racing in her chest.

"Would you look at that," Charles murmured.

"Like something out of a fairy tale," Rosie whispered back, stepping into the clearing, her hands itching to touch the blooms.

Together, they knelt among the flowers, fingers grazing as they plucked stems and wove them into a bouquet. Rosie's pulse quickened each time their skin touched, a jolt of electricity that seemed to charge the air around them. She watched as Charles selected a beautiful rose-hued bloom, his hand steady despite the way his eyes darted up to meet hers with an intensity that left her breathless.

"Here," he said, his voice low, "this one should be the centerpiece."

"Because it's the brightest?" Rosie teased, taking the flower from him, careful not to let her fingers linger over his.

"Because it stands out, just like you," Charles replied, the honesty in his voice wrapping around her like a warm embrace.

Amid the wildflower meadow, Rosie realized that Hope Springs had more magic to offer than just picturesque views. It was here, in the simple act of creating together, that Rosie saw glimpses of the man Charles hid behind his mayoral fa?ade—a man capable of passion and humor.

"Thank you, Charles," Rosie said softly, holding the burgeoning bouquet to her chest. "For this."

"Thank you, Rosie," Charles said, his gaze unwavering, "for making everything seem new."

Their shared smiles were like secrets whispered between kindred spirits, promises of deeper connections yet to be explored in the quaint town of Hope Springs, where love began to blossom among the wildflowers.

*****

DAYS LATER, ROSIE PREPAREDfor their evening. She arranged the table in the backyard, her hands working diligently to create an ambiance filled with romance and starlight.

"Rosie?" Charles's voice carried a note of surprise. He had expected a simple supper, not an alfresco dining experience under the celestial tapestry of the night sky.

"Surprise," she said, her eyes shining with mischief and delight. "I thought we'd enjoy the stars tonight." Even though she knew he wasn't quite ready to forget about Margaret, she did her best to put them into situations where they were more likely to fall for each other.

They sat, knees almost touching, plates generously filled. Laughter mingled with the clinking of cutlery, each joke, each shared memory bringing them closer. Charles regaled her with tales of Hope Springs' eccentricities, while Rosie's wit sparked laughter that rang clear as the crisp Colorado air.

"Your laugh," Charles said, pausing, a smile tugging at his lips, "it's quite infectious."

"Only because your stories are so amusing, Mr. Mayor," Rosie teased back, her eyes sparkling with humor.

The meal concluded, and they lingered over dessert, neither ready to end their evening. Rosie's heart fluttered like the wings of a hummingbird as she noticed the way Charles's gaze lingered on her lips.

"Rosie," he began, his voice a low murmur that seemed to resonate with the thrum of the night, "I—"

"Shh," she interrupted, placing a finger gently upon his lips, her own heart daring to hope. "Let's just sit here, under the stars."

Rosie leaned her head against Charles's shoulder, and for the first time, the distance between them felt like nothing at all.

*****

CHARLES LED ROSIE THROUGHthe bustling Hope Springs town fair, his hand firm on her elbow, a rare touch that sent a pleasant shiver up her spine. The vibrant colors of the stalls, the jovial calls of the vendors, and the laughter of children darting between the legs of adults lent an air of joy that was impossible to resist.

"Rosie," Charles said suddenly, halting before a ring toss booth, "I bet I can land more rings than you."

His eyes gleamed with a playful challenge, one she hadn't seen before. It was as if the spirit of the fair had infused him with a light-hearted boldness that surprised and delighted her.

"Is that so, Mr. Mayor?" Rosie teased, accepting the gauntlet thrown at her feet. "Prepare to be humbled."

They squared off, their competitive streaks igniting as each took turns tossing rings, the clang of metal on wood punctuating their attempts. Rosie's accuracy earned her a small cheer from onlookers, but it was Charles who triumphed, a boyish grin spreading across his face as he claimed a stuffed bear prize.

"Victory is sweet," he crowed, presenting it to her with an exaggerated flourish.

"Only because you're not used to it," Rosie quipped back, unable to suppress her own smile. She accepted the bear, tucking it under her arm like a badge of honor.

Their laughter subsided as they strolled away from the games toward the quieter edge of the fair. Here, away from the cacophony, Rosie saw a different side of Charles emerge—a softer, thoughtful expression.

"Did you ever dream of something different, Charles?" Rosie ventured, her voice low. "Before becoming mayor, I mean."

He stopped, facing her, his gaze holding a depth she'd seldom glimpsed. "When I was a boy, I dreamed of being a rancher," he confessed, "and being the first rancher to raise buffalo." His chuckle was self-deprecating. "Foolish dreams of a young mind."

"Those dreams sound wonderful, not foolish," Rosie encouraged, touched by his candor. "How did a man who dreamed of being a buffalo rancher become a mayor anyway?"

He took a deep breath. "John Thompson wanted to be mayor. He's not a good man, Rosie, and when William, Albert, and I talked of him running unopposed, they decided I was the best man for the job. John, Albert, and I all made our fortunes in the silver mines. John and Albert bought up half the town, but I bought my ranch and the livestock, and it cost every dime I had." He sighed. "Then Texas fever went through my herd. I lost all but seven of my cattle. All the money I'd carefully saved for my herd was gone. When William suggested I run against John for mayor, I knew the small amount it paid would help me to rebuild my herd, so I did it. That was twelve years ago. Every four years, John runs against me, and I always win."

Rosie smiled. "Good. I've met the man, and frankly, I didn't like him much. He seemed to look down on everyone around him. You're a good man, though. I knew it the moment I saw you."

Her words seemed to reach into him, lighting up his eyes with something warm and indefinable. "Thank you, Rosie," he murmured, "for seeing in me what I often forget."

The moment stretched between them, filled with an unspoken understanding, until the distant strains of fiddle music called them back to the present.

"Shall we dance, Mrs. Jordan?" Charles asked, extending his hand with a newfound tenderness.

"Lead the way, Mr. Jordan," Rosie replied, placing her hand in his.

As they moved together to join the dancers, their steps fell into rhythm with the spirited tune. The swirl of skirts, the stomp of boots, and the clapping hands surrounded them, but Rosie felt only the strength of Charles's arms guiding her and the harmony of their movements. With every turn and every step, the bond between them strengthened.

*****

RAIN PATTERED AGAINSTthe windows of their cozy Hope Springs home, trapping Rosie and Charles indoors. Outside, the world was a blur of grey and green, but inside, they found warmth in the golden glow of lamplight and the rich scent of pine burning in the hearth.

"Your move, Mrs. Jordan," Charles announced with a mischievous glimmer in his eyes, gesturing toward the board game sprawled between them on the rug.

Rosie bit her lower lip in mock contemplation, her gaze flitting over the game pieces as if the fate of empires rested upon her decision. "I'm thinking," she teased, buying time to strategize her next play.

"Thinking or stalling?" Charles challenged, leaning closer under the pretense of scrutinizing the board. His arm brushed hers, sending an unbidden thrill through her.

"Stalling is a perfectly valid tactic," she countered. "Checkmate."

His jaw dropped, incredulity etched on his handsome face. "I'll be," he murmured, then leaned back with a hearty laugh that mingled with the thrumming of rain. "Looks like I've underestimated you once again."

Rosie's victory was sweetened when Charles reached out to tuck a stray curl behind her ear, his fingers lingering just a moment too long. Her heart skipped, and she caught her breath at the tenderness of the gesture. When his lips brushed her cheek, Rosie felt the barriers between them.

*****

THE NEXT MORNING, WITHthe skies cleared to a breathtaking azure, Charles led Rosie to the edge of the property where two horses waited, their coats gleaming in the sun. Rosie eyed the majestic creatures with a mix of awe and nervousness.

"Ever been riding before?" Charles asked, his voice laced with excitement.

"Only in my dreams," she admitted, her pulse quickening.

"Then today's the day your dream becomes reality." He offered her a hand, assisting her as she mounted the gentle gelding he'd chosen for her. "Take it slow, there's no rush."

She took a deep breath, feeling the strength of the horse between her legs, its muscles rippling with contained power. Charles swung onto his steed with practiced ease, tipping his hat back with a grin. "Ready?"

"Let's venture forth," she said, feeling that every day with Charles was an adventure.

They trotted into the mountains, leaving Hope Springs a fading patchwork of colors behind them. Rosie's initial trepidation gave way to exhilaration, her laughter mingling with the whisper of wind through the pines. Charles instructed her on posture and control, demonstrating with a patience she hadn't known he possessed.

"Like this?" Rosie asked, imitating his upright stance.

"Perfect," he praised, and she beamed under his approving gaze. "You're a natural."

"Feels like flying, doesn't it?" Charles called over the sound of hoofbeats on the mountain path.

"Better than flying," Rosie replied. "Of course, I've never flown, but I can imagine. I've had dreams of flying."

"Thank you, Charles," she said when they paused to take in the view, the valleys sprawling below them like a promise.

"For what?" he asked, dismounting to stand beside her.

"For teaching me to ride," she started, then smiled wider. "And for being the partner I never knew I needed."

Charles stepped closer, his hand finding hers, their fingers intertwining. "We're learning together, Rosie. That's the beauty of it."

The beauty indeed, Rosie thought, as Charles leaned in and their lips met in their first kiss. Above them, the sky stretched endlessly—a canvas awaiting the strokes of their unfolding love story.

*****

THE WARMTH OF THE FIREcrackled, offsetting the chill that had settled over Hope Springs. Rosie nestled closer to Charles on the hearth-rug, a heavy blanket draped over their legs as they each held a well-worn book.

"Listen to this," Rosie said, her voice low and rich with enthusiasm, "‘In her eyes, the glow of the soul's awakening shone.'" She looked up from the page, finding Charles's gaze already resting upon her with an intensity that made her heart flutter like the wings of a trapped sparrow.

"Such poetry in words," Charles replied. "But not nearly as captivating as the awakening I see when you speak of your dreams."

He cleared his throat, selecting a paragraph from his own book. As he read, Rosie couldn't help but marvel at the way his voice caressed the words, bringing the story to life with a passion that was both riveting and intimate.

When the clock tolled a late hour, Charles closed his book with a decisive snap. He glanced at the piano in the corner of the room—a silent invitation for yet another shared adventure.

"Have you ever played?" he asked, his eyebrow arching playfully as he extended a hand to help her up.

"Only in my dreams," she said, taking his hand and allowing him to lead her to the instrument.

"Then let dreams become reality tonight," Charles said, lifting the lid to reveal the ebony and ivory keys. Rosie watched, mesmerized, as his fingers began to dance across them, coaxing out a melody so tender it seemed to whisper secrets.

"Here, place your hands with mine," he instructed, guiding her to the keys. Their fingers brushed, a jolt of electricity passing between them, igniting a desire that was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.

With gentle patience, Charles directed her through simple scales, their hands moving together in harmony. Rosie was a quick study, her laughter ringing out like a bell whenever she missed a note. But Charles never faltered, encouraging her with a smile that promised she'd soon be playing as if born to it.

"Like this," Charles murmured, their hands overlapping, his fingers deftly leading hers into the crescendo of the piece. The music swelled around them, filling the room with a beauty that seemed to pause time itself.

And in that suspended moment, as Rosie's hands moved under the guidance of Charles's, she knew that the magic of their connection was not confined to the notes they played or the words they read by firelight.

*****

LATE ONE EVENING, ROSIEand Charles found themselves nestled in the heart of an overstuffed sofa, a fire crackling in the hearth. The evening's music lesson had drifted into silence, and in its place, a quiet anticipation hung between them.

"Charles," Rosie began, "have you ever imagined what legacy we'll leave here in Hope Springs?"

His eyes, usually so guarded, softened as he turned to face her. "I think about it often," he confessed. "More so now that you're here."

"Tell me," she urged, tucking a stray curl behind her ear.

He hesitated, but her encouraging smile coaxed his dreams out into the open. "I imagine a town where the feud is just a shadow of the past. A place thriving with trade and laughter, where every man, woman, and child feels they belong."

Rosie's heart swelled at his vision. "And a family?" she ventured, the word a soft tremor in the air.

"Yes, a family," Charles said, turning toward her with a tenderness that spoke volumes. "Children who know the value of community, who play in the meadows we once roamed...Our home, a sanctuary of love and growth."

Her hand found his. "It's a beautiful dream, Charles. One I share with all my heart."

"Rosie," Charles said, his voice barely above a whisper, "there are times when doubt creeps in, when I fear I'm not enough—for you, for this town."

"I have my fears too," she admitted, her breath warm against his skin. "Sometimes I worry I'll wake up and find that this is just a fleeting dream. And I'm back in Massachusetts, taking a beating because I refused to let my father hit my mother one more time."

"Then let's promise each other," Charles said, "to believe in our reality more than our fears."

"I promise," she whispered back.

*****

CHARLES'S EYEbrOWSrose in surprise as Rosie beckoned him toward the river, a wicker basket swinging from her arm.

"Rosie, what have you done?" he asked, as they rounded a bend and the secluded spot came into view.

"Consider it a respite from our duties," she replied with a sly smile, spreading a checkered blanket on the soft grass by the riverbank. "Even the mayor needs to eat."

The meal was simple fare, but every bite tasted of the care she had given to its preparation—a hearty stew, fresh bread, and apple pie, all followed by the rich aroma of strong coffee. They ate in companionable silence, occasionally exchanging looks that held more conversation than words ever could.

As the sunset painted the sky in strokes of pink and orange, they leaned back against an old oak. Charles's hand found hers, their fingers intertwining naturally. He turned to look at her, the fading light igniting flecks of amber in her eyes.

"Thank you for this," he whispered, his voice carrying the weight of unspoken gratitude for more than just the meal.

"Thank you for being here." Her response was immediate, punctuated by the gentle pressure of her hand squeezing his.

Their gazes locked, and for a moment, the world around them ceased to exist—their connection the only tangible thing. Then, they drew closer until their lips met in a kiss that was both an affirmation of their bond and a promise of more. It was passionate yet tender, filled with the yearning that had been simmering beneath the surface of their daily lives.

Breaking away, Rosie's laughter rang out, clear and joyous. "You should see your face, Mr. Mayor. All flushed with scandal."

"Scandal? In my Hope Springs?" Charles feigned shock, his eyes dancing with amusement. "I'll have you know I'm a very proper gentleman."

"Of course," Rosie teased, batting her eyelashes exaggeratedly. "As proper as they come, especially when whisking ladies away to secret picnics by the river."

"Only the most special of ladies," Charles said, his tone light but his intent serious. He brushed a stray lock of hair from her forehead, reveling in the simple act.

"Special, am I?" Rosie's voice was playful.

"You are," he said, leaning in so close his breath tickled her ear. "And I do believe you've bewitched me, Rosie Jordan."

"Is that so?" She tilted her head, her eyes alight with mischief. "Well then, Mr. Jordan, prepare to be thoroughly enchanted."