He thought for a moment. It must have been his father who’d sung it to him. No other person in his life would have done such a thing with him. “I’ve just always known it,” he hedged.
“I see.” There had obviously been at least one person in his childhood who had shown a bit of kindness toward him, Theodosia mused. Someone had taken the time to teach him a song. And whoever that person was, Roman hadn’t had much time with him or her. Otherwise, his memories would be sharper.
Emotion pulled at her heart as she contemplated the sad and lonely childhood he must have had.
“Don’t start it,” Roman warned, noticing the look of deep concentration on her face. “Whatever it is you’re trying to analyze about me, keep it to yourself.”
She picked up a few of the pebbles he’d tossed to her and rolled them between her fingers. “Very well. What would you like to discuss instead?”
He sought a harmless subject. “We were talking about the star.”
“No, we were talking about the song.”
“All right, we were talking about the song. Do you know the tune to it?”
She brushed away a leaf that floated into her hair. “I have never heard the poem sung, but I have read it. It is a child’s nursery rhyme written by Ann and Jane Taylor in 1806, and I must say that I find it nonsensical. A star is not like a diamond at all. A diamond cannot shine if light is not cast upon it, for it possesses no source of light of its own. A star, on the other hand, is a ball of very hot gas that shines by its own light. The twinkling you describe is caused by disturbances in the air between the star and the earth. The unsteady air bends the light from the star, which then appears to tremble. The air also breaks up the light into the colors often seen to flash from the star.”
He ignored her scientific explanation and continued to stare at the star. “You can make wishes on real bright stars like that, you know.” He decided his father had told him about star wishes too.
Wishes?Theodosia repeated silently. She glanced at the star once more. “The brightness of stars is measured by means of their magnitude, a usage that has come down from classical antiquity. A star of the first magnitude is two point five times as bright as one of the second magnitude, which in turn, is two point five times as bright as one of the third magnitude—”
“Miss Worth?”
She turned her gaze from the sky and looked at him. “Yes?”
“But what about wishing?”
“Wishing, Mr. Montana?”
“Haven’t you ever wished on a star?”
She lay back down on her rocky bed. “I believe what John Adams had to say about wishing. ‘Facts are stubborn things; and whatever may be our wishes, our inclinations, or the dictates of our passions, they cannot alter the state of facts and evidence.’”
Roman picked up a twig and flicked dirt with its point, then pitched the gnarled stick into the shadows. “Yeah? Well, let me tell you what I think about your Mr. John Adams. He doesn’t keep me company when I’m riding on an endless stretch of road at night. Stars do. John Adams doesn’t give me something to count when I can’t sleep. I don’t look at John Adams when I want to see something that’ll take my mind off anything that’s bothered me during the day. And who the hell cares about what John Adams had to say about wishing? If he’d wished more, maybe he’d’ve been thefirstpresident instead of the second.”
Seeing no point in continuing with a discussion that made absolutely no sense to her, Theodosia closed her eyes and tried to sleep.
Roman watched her toss and turn. Finally, after about a quarter of an hour, she stilled, and he knew she’d fallen asleep.
He stretched out on his own pallet and looked up at the night sky again.
To Theodosia, flowers weren’t things that were just plain pretty, he mused. They were to be studied, roots and all. To calm herself down, she didn’t just take a deep breath; she quoted Latin words having to do with ruffled minds. She didn’t know what rain tasted like, or what cool bed sheets felt like next to her bare skin. She’d never even wished on a star.
She knew a wealth of things.
But she’d missed out on a whole world of others.
Theodosia awokewith a startand saw two big blue circles a mere inch away from her face. It took her a moment to understand they were Roman’s eyes. “What—”
“I didn’t think you’d ever wake up.” He stood but continued looking down at her. “It’s almost eleven. I’ve already hunted, eaten, cleaned my weapons, seen to the horses, and bathed.”
“Awk!” John the Baptist screeched from within his cage, which sat a few feet away from Theodosia’s sleeping pallet. “I work with my hands, Miss Worth. Haven’t you ever wished on a star?”
Theodosia rubbed her eyes, sat up, and raised her gaze to Roman. At the sight of him, a rhythmic pulse began to dance within the deepest part of her.
He wore nothing but his black breeches. Tan-colored sand clung to the dark skin that stretched across his broad chest. His damp hair, shining in the late morning light, fell over his broad shoulders, a few waves sticking to the thick muscles in his arms.
She lowered her gaze. Wet with what she assumed was water from the stream he’d bathed in, his breeches hugged every sleek curve and bulge in his lower torso. She realized that if she were only a bit closer to him, she’d be able to discern what each of those curves and bulges were.
