She did indeed see the tracks he indicated, and she marveled over how quickly he’d determined that they’d been made by a harmless herd of wild mustangs.
She climbed out of the wagon, drank her fill of the clean sweet stream water and sat down in a thick bed of grass and wild flowers. Watching Roman lead the horses to water, she let her thoughts wander.
She remembered long library aisles filled with old books and the tiring afternoons she’d spent walking down the musty-smelling aisles in search of some elusive piece of information. She recalled elderly professors with their beards, spectacles, and long bony fingers. She could even remember how the professors smelled—like dust, probably from walking down the same musty-smelling library aisles.
She strolled through aisles now, too—endless stretches of dirt roads surrounded by fresh greenery and happy birds and clean fragrant breezes. Her professor wore no beard and no spectacles, and his fingers, though long, were thick and brown and felt wonderful intertwined with hers. He didn’t smell like dust. He was sun and leather, and he possessed knowledge not found within the yellowed pages of books.
He smiled often while sharing his wisdom with her. She smiled back at him and drank in his teachings as if each drop were more precious than the last.
He was Roman, and the world he showed her proved so beautiful, she wondered how she would ever be able to leave it.
The thought occupied her mind with such intensity that Roman noticed. “Why so quiet?”
She ran her hand through the luxurious mass of grass and flowers. “I’m thinking.”
Her answer disturbed him. He’d done his best to get her mind off her future plans, and he’d done well. But he knew it was only a matter of time before she began dwelling on her goals again. “You’re thinking about the baby. Brazil. About Dr. Wallaby and the research.” He sat down beside her and absently began to pick the blossoms that grew all around him.
She watched him stick his thumbnail through each of the flower stems to make thin slits through which he inserted individual stems until he’d created a long chain of blossoms.
“Ever done this, Theodosia?” He tied the two ends together, forming a posy necklace.
“No, Roman, I never have.”
He slipped the necklace over her head, and as he arranged it around her shoulders, an iridescent butterfly floated past her face. “Sometimes I’d make these chains and have my mare, Angel, wear them around her neck. Eventually, she’d eat them off.”
Theodosia made a flower necklace of her own, a small one, then crowned Roman’s head with it. “There. Now you are His Majesty, King Roman.” He leaned toward her and kissed her soft cheek. “When I first met you, you never would have pretended I was King Roman.”
“When I first met you, I did not know how to pretend,” she replied, gliding her hand down his thick arm. “I have done quite a few things since then that I have never done before.”
And there are so many more things I want to show you, Theodosia.
He urged her to lie down on the ground, then he lay beside her. “Close your eyes and stare at the sun through your eyelids. After a while you’ll start seeing a bunch of colors swirling around.”
She did as he asked and saw the colors he’d said she would. It was a simple thing—watching colors twirl around behind her eyelids.
But it brought her such peace.
“Roman,” she murmured, her eyes still closed.
He kept his shut, too. “What?”
“I wasn’t pondering the baby, Brazil, Dr. Wallaby, or the research. I was thinking about how much I’ve enjoyed this time with you.” She paused, trying to stem the sudden sadness that rose within her. “I shall miss you, Roman Montana.”
Her declaration strengthened his suspicions that she was preparing to commence with her plans and then return to her own world. A world he could never share with her.
He sat up, and for a moment he watched the horses drink from the stream. One day soon he would watch only one horse drink from streams. Secret would be his sole company.
“I have something for you, Theodosia.”
She opened her eyes and sat up beside him.
“I got it for you in Enchanted Hill,” Roman said, taking her hand and caressing her slender fingers, “but—well, I got mad and didn’t give it to you.” He rose, crossed to the stream where Secret stood, and took a yellow box out of his saddlebag. Sunlight shimmered over the bright red bow, and he felt glad he’d had the present wrapped.
“What is it?” Theodosia asked when he handed her the box.
He stuffed his hands into his pockets and grinned down at her. “We could sit here for a few weeks while you guess. Or you could do what makes the most sense and open it.”
At his sarcasm she stuck her tongue out at him. He’d never seen her do that before and liked seeing her do it now. “Well?”
